"Emilie, Takhini North", and An Inaugural Snowshoeing

"We must let go of the life we have planned,

 so as to accept the one that is waiting for us."~Joseph Campbell

Even before darkening the doorway of The Yukon Territory I began making friends. Through past housesitting/hiking stints in the Territory, as well as via social media and friends in Ontario, I was excited to connect with people here. Emilie is one such friend. 

This painting resulted from a walk up in a subdivision of Whitehorse called Takhini North. It is amazing how our brains remember subtle topographies. In large urban areas we naturally remember buildings or man made structures to orientate ourselves within a space. Up here, there are a few buildings, yes, but natural structures vastly outweigh those built with human hands. Mountains have faces as well as people, and many folks have seen this painting and said "I know exactly where that is!"

Emilie had recently picked up this amazing blue coat at Unity Clothing here in Whitehorse. The intense, cobalt-blue hue was instantly appealing, especially in contrast with her amazing red hair. 

This was the first portrait I completed after moving to Whitehorse. It is 30"x40", a good size, oil on canvas. My gallery in Toronto, Abbozzo Gallery, has it now. It is on display currently if you wish to see it in person. Looking at images on a small scale is deceptive, especially when it comes to art. One needs to step closer to a painting to really see the "guts" of the thing, to see how an artist makes the work what it is. I paint very thinly, so I utilize directionality in brushwork to add structure and depth. Up close it is easier to see the subtleties. 

I have been in the Yukon Territory for four months now. Four months to let my bones settle into this place. The people are as warm as the temperatures are cold. There is community, and resiliency, and pride. I am proud to call The Yukon home. I can understand how city mice can be unhelmed by the quiet, by the space, by the solitude. It does force you to become better acquainted with the vagaries of your heart and mind. It does invite introspection...and it does so in spades. After living in a suburban environment up until now, with only periodic, bucolic adventures, it is a bit overwhelming at times. It is good. It is an opportunity to learn and find peace within the abundantly quiet moments. 

Recently I went snowshoeing here outside of town with some friends. I had never snowshoed before, and we did a 21km trek out near Fish Lake. It was great fun. Brisk, at -15ºC that day, but we kept moving and worked up a little sweat. Above, Greg takes off into the dawn. 

I took my trusty Arc'teryx Altra pack with me on this snowshoe. This pack has gone with me on treks in The Yukon, Iceland and The Faroe Islands. It's light, and a good size for an overnight hike or a long day hike. Here's a link: Arc'teryx Altra 48 L

The trek was a gradual uphill for the first 5km, then a slow but continuous descent for the majority of it. It made for some nice views. We passed a few cross country skiers and their dogs. People up here love to be out in the elements. And who wouldn't? 

The sun came out in the last half hour of the snowshoe. There is so little pollution up here that light is not hindered by anything. It is intense, and vibrant, and there are colours that practically glow in even the quietest shadows. The blues are so luminous it defies belief. I am fortunate to be here, to have no departure date, to dwell amongst the mountains, finally :) 

Have a beautiful day,

Heather

“I learned this, at least, by my experiment; that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours. . ."~Henry David Thoreau

Yukon Life: If You're Happy No Amount Of Darkness Matters.

"Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in a forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers." ~T.S. Eliot

These days in Whitehorse, the sun rises at about 9:48 am and sets just before 4pm. That's 6 precious hours to cast a shadow. And the sun doesn't mess around. True, the dawns and dusks seem more lengthy, but the darkness always wins. I feel as though I am on a night shift, even though I have never worked one before. 

The other morning, lying in bed, cocooned in a web of blankets and I thought about what changes I notice most about these colder days. My sweet cottage is a tiny castle….diminutive in size but large in charm. I love that it has a slant…cupboard doors swing open wildly, my studio chair is always wanting to roll away from the easel. It reminds me of quaint little cottages in Newfoundland. It only has two rooms, plus a small bathroom. It is all I need. It doesn't take you long in a small space to realise how much is superfluous. You become discerning out of necessity. 

Dawn at Fish Lake a few weeks ago

In the mornings, in the dark, there are few sounds outside of my cottage. My bed is against two exterior walls, so it is quite refreshing when it is -30ºC. I huddle under my Hudson's Bay blanket and Icelandic throw picked up in Reykjavik. I hear cars driving slowly down the lane way behind the cottage, the snow protesting in strange, dry squeaks. My neighbour says foxes are fond of the lane way, which makes me happy, knowing they are out there padding around in their fluffy auburn raiment. As I drove along Robert Service Way paralleling the Yukon River there other day I saw a fox cross up ahead of me. Thankfully he stood still and regarded me as I drove past…this beautiful creature out in the freezing cold, just doing his thing. Lovely.

The windows of Rose Cottage have had a whole story of their own this past month as the cold has set in. I have moisture in my cottage that is forming elaborate ice formations, almost stalactites, inside my storm windows, and in the case of my bedroom window, which doesn't have a storm window, in my room. It's weird to see the ice there, not melting, even though my cottage is 17ºC. Outside the ice blooms into floral patterns, dancing horses, tendrils of icy, tiny leviathans, otherworldly plants. Watching them shift with the alternating temperature is like watching clouds pass overhead and forming them into stories. 

When it gets below minus 25 the cold starts to do crazy things. Everything becomes more brittle. Even the water in our bodies starts to slow down and freeze…the pain of having exposed flesh sets in quickly. I have already begun stocking my car with emergency supplies, even though I don't want to drive too far out of town until I get snow tires. 

Layers of light at Fish Lake

Sasha's coat is getting thicker by the day. I love that he is on this journey with me, adapting and learning about life up here in the North. The biggest bummer is the ice on the windows. While beautiful, it is an impediment for him as he loves watching the world go by. In a 450 square cottage, he can use all of the activity he can find. He is my constant companion...5,400km driven together across this great country of Canada. I am proud of him. A tiny trooper.

Sasha Fierce

Mist rising off of the Yukon River at 9am last week...

The other day it was about -34ºC with the windchill. I saw light and mist rising off of the Yukon River. In a few minutes I had snapped a photo of a sun dog…my first! It is a beautiful phenomenon that I believe is specific to cold environments. It has to do with some sort of specific refraction of light…I think...it's a bit of magic undeniably. 

The darkness is pervasive this time of year. It is new, and fun, and slightly intimidating. But I realized the other morning with some momentary clarity: when you are happy, no amount of darkness matters.

Yukon Living...The Sweetest Peace

The timber wolves will be our friends.

We'll stay up late and howl,

At the moon, till nighttime ends,

Before going on the prowl.

Oh, what a life! We cannot wait,

To be in that arctic land,

Where we'll be masters of our fate,

And lead a life that's grand!

~excerpt from Calvin & Hobbes' "The Yukon Song", by Bill Watterson

It has been almost three weeks since I arrived in Whitehorse, Yukon Territory. The drive was truly an odyssey, and the peace that has followed has also been overwhelming. After so many months of planning, my dream really has come true.

The air here is as clean as I remember. No more hacking cough from particulate in the air. The roads are quiet, much quieter than what I am used to. Everything is within a five minute walk as I am downtown. The Yukon river is 350 m away.

Emerald Lake. I drove too far and missed the turnoff to a friend's house

...but this was a great site to pass despite my error:)

The community here is close knit and supportive. There is always something going on. The cold and snow is just par for the course for the people here in the Yukon. Each time of day here, each moment of each season, changes almost before your eyes.

An unkindness of ravens surveyed the Yukon River as I walked by them yesterday...

McLean Lake. Went jogging here one day. No one around as usual. Perfect:)

Recently as I drove down the Robert Service Expressway into Whitehorse I looked across at Grey Mountain (or Canyon Mountain, it's proper name) across The Yukon River. I was struck by the rivulets of golden-yellow tendrils of far off trees whose leaves were reaching up onto the mountain as far as possible. Within 24 hours many leaves have given up the ghost and dropped down to the forest floor, like bright little mandalas. Beautiful. Ephemeral.

Driving down the South Klondike Hihgway...I see mountains every day now. Joy!

I will often paint in my little studio all day and then go for a 3-5 mile hike on Grey Mountain. There are well marked trails and you will rarely see another person. More likely you will see a porcupine, deer, or even a bear. This year has been a bumper crop in terms of berries I hear, and so some friends and I are going berry picking on the weekend. A true Northern tradition. I made some cranberry jam today, and will be blogging about that process, as well as the process of picking the berries.

Hidden Lake, which I passed on a recent hike. 

I have spent so much time and energy thinking about being here, planning, organizing, that the peace felt now that I'm settling in is palpable. All of that energy can now rest and be turned over into the soil of this new place. I honesty cannot remember being this happy. This place is polarizing. So much happening yet so much quiet and stillness if you turn away from the hum as well.

It is definitely autumn here in The Yukon..

Sasha is getting used to the little cottage where I live. His space has lessened but his personality is just as big and he keeps me up regularly at night wanting to play. What a trooper. I knew he could do the trip, and now his coat is getting thicker each day. He will need the extra insulation as the snow will be flying within two weeks most likely.

Moody skies at Lewes Lake, off the South Klondike Highway

Each day when I step out of my little cottage I am so thankful. I look at the mountains across the river and breathe the clean air and smile. I need nothing more. My cup is full, and The Yukon is a cup that never runs dry.