Canoeing the Yukon River: Part 2

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 04/10/2023 (719 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

This story is the second in a three-part series about an auntie and niece canoeing on the Yukon River, from Whitehorse to Dawson City. Find the first part here.

This was my first canoe trip outside Manitoba and Ontario, and I instantly fell in love with the Yukon’s hilly and rugged terrain. Sandy cliffs towered over the winding riverbanks, forests blanketed the valleys, and solitary trees scattered up and down the embankments stretched tall towards the blue sky. What a beautiful welcome…

Our plan was to paddle as far as possible on day one, but the Kanoe People suggested stopping before Lake Laberge. The campsite they recommended was at the last bend in the river before the mouth of the lake. It had large spruce trees, two picnic tables, a nice beach, and a breathtaking view of the neighbouring mountains. What a privilege to call this place our home on the first night in the woods.

For the next full day-and-a-half, we paddled from one end of Lake Laberge to the other. It was a scenic stretch, but with no flow to help us along, the 50-plus-kilometre grind took great effort. We also saw how quickly conditions could change. From one hour to the next we could go from a flat-as-glass surface, sparkling in the sunshine, to rolling headwinds under gloomy gray skies. With the potential for paddlers to be wind-bound on this lake for multiple days, we were fortunate to have co-operative weather.

On day three, eager to be back in the flow, we were greeted with speed. Suddenly free of the big giant lake, we were now moving fast and, before we knew it… we were moving pretty darn fast. It started with a few standing waves. Then some patches of swirly water. Then the waves became more frequent, rolling over water obstacles, and generating swifts. As the river churned its way from one horseshoe-bend into another and the water got wilder and wilder, I couldn’t help but think, “Holy sh**! What have we gotten ourselves into?”

For the first time in life, I had to put my canoe-sterning skills to the test in rough waters. Fortunately, it turned out OK. We managed to dodge the dangers and were able to navigate a safe path. Brit was a steadfast partner, powering through when needed, and pretty damn fearless, too. Me? Not fearless at all — and pretty darned relieved to reach solid ground after an unexpectedly crazy day on the water.

We were joined at the campsite by a nice couple from France whom we dubbed ‘The Frenchies’. They were also taken off-guard by the fast-moving river and, like us, were feeling out of their comfort zone. I felt reassured, knowing that I wasn’t just me who felt intimidated.

The next day, we were happy to discover that the river settled down. While it still commanded constant attention, it wasn’t nearly as gnarly as the day before. We vowed to get as far as we could, as fast as we could. We knew that the 700-kilometre trip would take two full weeks if we completed 50 kilometres per day. But once we got into a consistent flow, we realized we could do more daily distance. So we did.

We knocked off 65 kilometres on day four, before setting up camp at the site of a trapper’s cabin high on a riverside bluff. Facing directly toward the sunset, with a cut of hot tea and plate of dinner in hand, it was a glorious piece of paradise at the end of what had been our longest distance.

On day five, now knowing what was realistically possible, we set our sights on Carmacks. Even though it was a long way off, we made it our goal to get within striking distance. Leaving early, with morning mist still fading from the water, we set off to reach the campsite just south of town. We had 105 kilometres to go, and by our calculations, that distance should likely be doable in one day.

But would it be?

More to come: My next Travelations wraps up the canoe trip from Whitehorse to Dawson City on the mighty Yukon River.