Mural of white horses on the edge of town

Cliffs and onto the Alaska highway

A bridge to rugged, natural beauty

Canadian flag in Whitehorse

No introduction to Whitehorse no matter how brief would not be complete without a mention of the famous S.S. Klondike.

Before the era of roads the S.S. Klondike carried both passengers and ore on the shallow rivers of the Yukon.

Kluane National Park and Reserve Map

Our group of six hikers joined our two guides and the Terre Borèale van driver at the Best Western Gold Rush Inn early Sunday afternoon. The clients were a father and his two grown daughters, presumably both in their twenties and two other young women and myself. The guides were Marc and Marc André both from Quebec. Our driver was Édouard who was from France, but lived in Quebec for the past several years.

During the 1 hour and 45 minute drive to Da Ku Cultural Center where our group registered for the trip, I learned the hiking experiences of some of the guests.

Following the Pilot Car through construction zone.

One woman had hiked and stayed at the base camp of Mount Everest. Another young lady from Vancouver did the O Route of the Torres del Paine. I had a hunch the remaining three were experienced backpackers as well. Compared to this group I was a newbie, a neophyte and out of my league.

Kluane mountains blocking clouds as seen from the highway.

After registration at the cultural center we watched a video about staying safe in bear country. We learned the importance of interpreting behaviors of both black bears and grizzly bears. Sometimes bears will bluff charge where the bear will aggressively lurch forward with a step or two. Other charges are more assertive, yet stop short of an actual, full-on attack. These are more defensive in nature. If that happens lay face down covering your head and face with your backpack still on. The video went on to explain that if the charge is offensive, then fight back, yelling, kicking and doing everything you can to let the bear know you are not its next meal. To me it seems like a defensive charge can turn into an offensive charge before you know it has happened. This part seemed merely academic and not very useful. The helpful advice was to let the bear know that you are there, if they don’t know already. Say “Hey Bear” assertively and slowly back away, but never turn your back on the bear. And never, ever run. Yes, you got it. That was the helpful part of the video.

First Camping Night

Whitehorse is flanked by the Yukon River on the south and the Alaskan highway and the airport on the north. Fortunately, the airport isn’t very busy. Strolling through Whitehorse, one barely knows it’s there. I did hear a helicopter far away, its pulsating blades bouncing off the hills. Seemed like it took about 5 minutes for it to land at the airport. That sound and an occasional tractor-trailer driving on 2nd and 4th avenue was the extent of noise pollution in Whitehorse.

We piled in the van and left the Da Ku Cultural Center for the Congdon Creek Campground on the shoreline of Kluane Lake. Camping is only allowed within the confines of an electric fence as the area is used extensively by grizzlies. Our guides introduced us to our new tents provided by Terre Borèale. They were light and easy to set up. We did a final gear check. The guides encouraged us to re-evaluate our personal loads, telling us if we really didn’t need some items to place them in our luggage in the Terre Borèale van.

We ate a light meal of cheese, homemade crackers as an appetizer and grilled sausage with a type of coleslaw. Though, the sky was still light, we all retired for the evening.

Stepping out into wilderness

After a coffee and a small meal of breakfast tacos, we packed up our gear and stowed in the van to a nearby drop off point. Our starting point was mostly a dried river bed that ran perpendicular to the highway. From here we would hike several kilometers (10 to 13?) to our second campsite at Bock’s Lake.

Gear loaded, stretching and then off to our insertion point at Bock’s Creek.

I was very enthusiastic and happy to be finally on our way. We were told to pack our sleeping gear, spare clothes, ran jacket, rain paints and any other small personal items that we may need. Terre Borèale provided our tents and our our share of food for three meals per day for six days. Along with a minimum of 2 liters of water, I estimate our packs to weigh between 45 to 50 lbs (20.4 to 22.7 kg). I base this upon my practice hikes filling my backpack with 43.1 pounds of gear and weighing it with a luggage scale.

Our guides took care of our water filtration needs. They knew the route and where the water sources were and how much to filtrate.

It’s important to note that we didn’t follow a trail. There was no trail with a smooth surface or signs. We followed a route that Marc and Marc Andrè had travel two weeks previously. The path was marked on a map and created by the owners of Terre Borèale, Max and Milèna.

We started hiking on loose stones on the creek bed. Sometimes we would step right next to the rushing Bock’s Creek. Other times our trek would veer away. Throughout the day the sound of that creek became louder as we came closer and grew fainter as we meandered away from it.

We began the day hiking on the top of a narrow, rocky levee of sorts. It was no more than 2 and a half to 3 yards (2.3 to 2.7 meters) high. I was walking right behind Marc at the time. The levee had been washed away and required a small descent. Marc made it look easy. I followed, but wasn’t careful enough about foot placement. My left and right feet slid in opposite directions and I fell into an inadvertent split. Someone behind me commented that I was flexible. Good thing. I didn’t want to tear a tendon, ligament or muscle and have my journey end so early and abruptly.

After about an hour and a half we stopped for a water break. Time to drink, but also a time for the guides to check that our packs were tight, feet were snug in boots and clothes and gear were not causing abrasions and blisters.

Rocky shore of Kluane Lake

About an hour and 15 minutes later, a light hail storm settled upon us. Our guides decided it was the right time to pitch a tarp and have lunch. The English to French translation was at times humorous. One of the Marc’s had trouble pronouncing the word ‘hail’. Someone spelled it out, but used the English alphabetic pronunciation instead of the French. ‘H’ in French sounds like ‘ash’ similar to the sound of the last name of the great American tennis start Arthur Ashe.

As our guides were preparing our meal, I stumbled yet again. As I fell I noticed my left foot wedged between two stones. I was careful to dislodge it without causing an injury. A sprained ankle would be the end of it for me. Marc Andrè noticed my fall and jumped into action. Unbeknownst to me I had some minor gashes on the back of my upper right arm. He applied some antibiotic cream and an adhesive bandage. I understand the need for the first aid, as it were. However, working in the natural area behind my house I routinely cut myself on thorny brush or trip over fallen limbs. This was certainly no worse. The big difference being is there is no 911 to call if something gets infected.

After lunch we hiked to part of the river bed where the creek abutted a steep embankment. This forced us to remove our packs and gingerly step up high, like the equivalent of four or five normal vertical steps in a standard staircase in a commercial building. Then, we had to step back down again. As one person crossed over, the remaining hikers passed the backpacks over.

I welcomed the slow pace of this part. By now I was on my way to exhausting what reserve fuel I had. I was no longer right behind the leader, rather I was straggling behind.

Carefully making our way over an embankment.

By mid-afternoon my increasing level of exhaustion was becoming clear to the guides, the other guests and of course, myself. I can compile a long list of “I should’ves”. I should have

• Drank more water first thing in the morning.

• Sipped on water from a Camelback while I hiked.

• Kept my original snacks that I brought, along with the ones Terre Borèale provided and ate copious amounts of those as soon as I arose that morning.

• Held back at the beginning and not playing hero hiker from the start.

I thought I trained sufficiently. If I’m honest with myself, I know I didn’t. I should have found places in the North Carolina mountains that may have featured sloping scree and trained there. I should have followed a training program like the ones from Chase Mountains. Obviously, not attempting such as strenuous hike at age 60 might be a “should have not”.

We left the creek completely now. We were climbing steep hills dense with bushes as tall as three meters. You had to be careful to release the limbs of a bush as you passed by it so as not to whack the hiker behind you in the face; thus the term “bushwhacking”.

Rainbow from stream below as seen from atop hard fought for hill.

It was late afternoon now. Marc asked the group if they wanted to stop now and camp near the creek, or push on to Bock’s Lake where we could all enjoy a day of rest with an optional short day hike to a ridge line. The other gentleman in the group spoke up immediately and voted to push on to Bock’s Lake. I thought his logic sound. Having a day off from hiking after an exceptionally strenuous day for everyone seemed to be a great idea. There was just one unspoken caveat for me. I didn’t want to know how far away Bock’s Lake was or how long it would take to get there. I just wanted to keep moving with my head down and placing one foot in front of the other. That was my strategy for pressing on. But, someone spoiled my strategy. One of the guides announced it would be about three more hours. Well, maybe some of those hours would be easy hours, I hoped.

We proceeded onward. Marc Andrè was now my de facto personal guide. Our next obstacle was a hill of flat, oblong stones. I guess you could call them shale stone. He studied the route for a safe path up and then told me to rest while he ascended alone. He quickly returned without his pack. I got up and he put on my pack explaining to me it was far too dangerous for someone already tired to carry a full pack. I assumed that if I slipped on the stones and tumbled several meters downhill, that would not only injure me, but put his his safety in jeopardy as well.

Without a pack I almost cheerfully ascended the slope as I walked behind him. I was talking almost non-stop which was a testament to my lifted spirit. Once at the top, I put my pack back on.

It was raining once more. I saw the rest of the group resting underneath the yellow tarp. We caught up with them and I sat next to the other gentleman. He turned to me and without emotion said, “Almost there.” We all took turns poking the top of the tarp where the rain collected so as to make it run off the side. We didn’t want the rain to collect and the tarp’s contents to come splashing in on us. Now it, was time for the main group to finish the final push to Bock’s Lake.

I was laying down alone now under the yellow tarp. The cold rain let up except for some straggling drops popping the taught canvas. Marc led the rest of the group up the ravine to Bock’s lake to set up camp. Marc-André was buzzing around the tarp adjusting gear, changing out hiking poles, doing I don’t know exactly what. This far north the summer sun loiters forever. It’s hiding just on the other side of the mountain. The rain clouds lingered. I couldn’t tell the hour of the evening. The sun and clouds conspired to hold me in perpetual dusk and doubt.

I arose from my supine position. As I rose, water slides like tears down my thin rain jacket, synthetic hiking pants and boot gaiters. Inside all that, I still felt fairly dry. Once upright I surveyed the area, my eyes slowly panned from the left from where we came and to the right, our night’s destination. Just like taking one of those panoramic photos, I over extended my balanced stance and stumbled. That was the beginning of my end.

I don’t recall exactly what I said when I saw it. “Oh, shit.” Or, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Perhaps, in my state of mind, nothing needed to be verbalized. The thought had become words. The words had become my reality. I saw our group about a half kilometer away slowly ascending a steep hill of scree. It was of the same type I had just ascended 20 or so minutes earlier. Looking back on it, they reminded me a little of Snow White and the 7 Dwarfs without snow and dwarfs.

I was unaware of any change in my demeanor, my expression or my breathing. It wasn’t until Marc Andre called out to me did I notice my swift and shallow breathing. In that moment to me, at least, my breathing was normal, unexceptional and yet uncontrollable. My breathing was like a dog panting on a hot summer day.

Marc Andrè called out my name and stood in front of me calling my name over again.

“Tim, look at me. Breath like I’m breathing. Slow it down. Take a nice long inhale and slowly exhale.”

At first, I did the opposite. I breathed faster and now with a coarse sound emanating from my chest. This all seemed to be happening to me, as opposed to, by me. To say that I was not myself is an understatement. The “I”, whatever that is for any of us, had temporarily checked out. But, just like “Hotel California”, I checked out, but couldn’t leave. I came back to myself. I slowed my breathing down. I calmed down. At age 60 I had my first full-blown panic attack. Apparently, the attack, the total loss of control, was brought on by sheer exhaustion and dehydration. Throughout the entire day, I only had to urinate once, and that was before we left camp. That’s probably not a good sign.

Almost as soon as I regained my self, my body began shivering uncontrollably. I don’t know if my current condition would leave me susceptible to hypothermia, but one could not rule it out. Marc Andrè rummaged through my pack and pulled out my sleeping bag and foam pad to go underneath. I was in a totally weakened state of both mind and body. Somehow he helped me slide into my mummy bag. I became quite comfortable. Marc Andrè told me not to fall asleep. He started to ask me questions. What is my wife’s name? What is my telephone number? Of course, he was establishing my Level of Response (LOR). I was more than adequately responsive.

From here on I’ll skip ALL the details. Suffice it to say, that I could not eat anything. I had no saliva. Yet, I wasn’t particularly thirsty. He offered me hot tea, which I was able to sip. To avert hypothermia, Marc Andrè heated water and filled a large rubber bladder and set it next to me in the sleeping bag. He did the same with a liter water bottle and handed it to me to put at my feet. Marc Andrè then offered me soup of which I could only sip the broth. I was afraid that eating anything solid would result in it just coming right back up.

Marc Andrè “took my vitals”, as he said. He held his fingers against my carotid artery for a while and then removed them. He never reported his finding. He must have told me it was OK to fall asleep. He said he would sleep near by. I remember waking in the night, opening my tent and seeing a half moon above one of the peaks. A bright star was just to the southeast of it. I suspect it was a planet. A beautiful site, but I didn’t have the presence of mind to grab my phone to snap a photo. Sometime later that night a very loud sound woke me. The next morning Marc Andrè confirmed it was a huge rock fall.

Morning at our impromptu camp site in the Kluane Mountains.

The next time I awoke the sky was light. First thing on my mind was relieving myself. Sorry to talk about urinating so much, but it’s often prime motivation for getting out of a comfortable sleeping bag. Soon after finishing, Marc Andrè came from behind a hill I was facing with a bladder of water from the stream and said, “I’m glad to see you’re up.”

Marc Andrè's camp tarp next to my tent.

Time For A Decision

Marc and Marc Andrè had already discussed a game plan, along with Max via Garmin InReach. It appeared to them I was too weak to continue on. I was even too weak to walk back the 10 or 12 kilometers, or whatever the distance, back to the place where the van dropped us off. I was informed that I would spend the day regaining my strength and then walk back with one of the guides to the entry point. There the van would pick me up and along with my backpack and take me back to Whitehorse. Chief among their concerns was me tumbling down one of those rocky hills.

So, there it is. My expedition was over! I was very disappointed to say the least. I was just a bit humiliated as well. I couldn’t conceive this happening. I knew I would be seven days in the wilderness, but I suppose I never really knew the level of fortitude that would take. Both Marcs said the first day of hiking was the most difficult. That may have helped explain my total wash out, my bombing, my choking, my failure.

As the morning past, my desire for water or food was still almost non-existent. I drank sips of water and tea. Marc Andrè offered me turkey jerky. It tasted alright, but I didn’t have enough saliva to adequately chew and digest it. I mainly wanted to lay down. If only just laying still would restore vitality I thought.

Approaching noon I broached the subject of a helicopter evacuation. I told them I bought the insurance that Terre Borèale suggested. They texted Max to get his opinion. In a few minutes Max texted back. He said the insurance probably wouldn’t cover exhaustion, but only serious injury. So, I guess in their reasoning, I should continue on until I broke a few bones and bled out a liter or two of blood. Makes sense if you’re in the insurance business, I suppose.

There was another air evacuation option they called a private service, which of course I had to pay for. I thought a few minutes about it. I thought why prolong this situation and said yes, let’s do it.

I copied the coordinates of one of my phone images of my second night encampment into Google Earth. You can see where we started is on the right and where I camped is on the left.

The helicopter delicately landed on a grassy, most flat area about 30 meters in front our camp. For helicopter enthusiasts it was the standard workhorse of choppers, the Bell Jet Ranger 206. I’ve flown in the Jet Ranger in my previous career. This helicopter model has been flying for more than 50 years.

Unlike in the United States Canadian aviation rules regarding commercial helicopter operations are more regulated. Our pilot named Malcom had to completely cut his engine before we approached. He gave me a thorough introduction to the aircraft including how to open the cargo bay, the location of the fire extinguisher, how to send an emergency signal which contained our GPS coordinates in case the pilot became incapacitated, instructions about how to buckle and unbuckle the harness and of course, the obligatory, don’t go near the tail rotor. Malcom asked if we had bear spray and fire arms. Yes to the first question and no to the second. Both required special stowage. The briefing went on for about 5 to 7 minutes, most of which I don’t remember. If I were really, really sick or injured I would be in agony during this time. My energy level increased and I became more disappointed with myself having chosen to leave. Before we summoned the helicopter, I’m still not sure I even had a choice. I suspect the decision to leave by air or ground was made for me.

To get a sense of remoteness flying time back to Whitehorse was about an hour and a half. During that time we flew over mountains, forest and low lying wetlands. Besides the highway we travelled on two days prior, there were no paved roads. Malcom did spot a grassy landing strip and two houses nearby but without a road. I spotted a herd of bison in a creek. The sound of the helicopter spooked them and they fled into some woods.

Bison crossing creek.

This land was as beautiful as any I’ve ever seen. We flew through valleys and hugged the land until it fell away beneath us. I asked Malcom if he ever had bad days at work. He said of course, everyone does. But I get to come out here and fly in this, as he waved his arm over the splendor before us.

Milèna, the co-owner of Terre Borèale, was waiting for me in the office of the helicopter service. She kindly drove me to a hotel in Whitehorse where she reserved a room for me. She told if there was anything she could do for me, to please let her know. She said she would follow up with me the next day and indeed she did.

So, that was my epic journey into the Yukon wilderness. It didn’t go as I had planned, but few things in life usually do. It was a memorable experience. I discovered, if only for a bit, the beauty of the far north. I learned some practical things and lessons that I should have already mastered. Next time, I will not repeat the same mistakes, but if I’m fortunate, make small new ones from which to learn.