This past weekend, in that it was Gareth's first weekend with me here in Whitehorse, I splurged and rented a car. The Subaru dealership here, which also sells Kias, has a rental car programme, which is both helpful and a good way to sample their fleet. The dealership has a very good reputation and I can totally understand why. Family owned and operated, they are polite, pleasant, and warm. They're also happy to provide information about vehicle purchasing. We had big plans to do many things, but didn't end up doing them. You can find the run-down here.

Firstly, I must comment on how widely varied the terrain and geology is in the area around Whitehorse. It's incredible, really. There are six or seven distinct biomes and many animals that inhabit them. In a matter of minutes in the car, we could see sheer cliffs, lake-filled valleys, boreal forest, sand-hills, etc. Truly remarkable. We have been told to keep an eye out for mountain goats and whatnot on the cliffs and mountains as we're out driving. How neat is that?!

Anyway, on Sunday, we headed up Fish Lake Road, which is only a kilometre or two from my apartment. Several people had told me that it was a stunning drive and we should try it. So, in that our initial plans to head for Skagway, Alaska, were no longer happening, it seemed like a very good place to head. Descriptions of its beauty were understating the truth. Quite possibly, I have never seen so dramatic and glorious a landscape since arriving in the Yukon. The road slowly climbs up, one rolling hill after another, and eventually you become aware that you're climbing in altitude. As you do, the trees begin growing further apart, more sparse in foliage, and shorter in height. The mountain peaks surrounding the drive become no longer tower as you head up. The trees weren't even nearly as close to leafed-out as they are down in the city.

Eventually, we came to Sky High Wilderness Ranch, which is a horse ranch in the summer and a dog-mushing locale in the winter. It is just off from the scenic Fish Lake. We first stopped at the lake's marshy shore where, quite literally, the bushes and grasses start to break apart and blend into the shallows, and we were shocked to discover the lake was more than half frozen. Gareth wondered if it would be possible to drive out to a point near to the ice. There was a tonne of waterfowl and shorebirds flitting here and there - and me without any binoculars. When we'd snapped some pictures, we carried onto the ranch where we pulled in to pick up a brochure. We chatted with some staff and guests and were pleased to discover that the rates are not 'sky high' as the ranch's name might suggest. The place was certainly rugged, but the horses looked healthy from what I could tell.

Brochure in hand, we turned around and continued along Fish Lake Road toward the lake. Sure enough, the road did reach the lake, and indeed carry onto the base of the mountain across from it (though we did not follow to it, as I am about to explain). Standing at the sharp bend in the road where it suddenly skirts the lake's edge was a man and a motorcycle, smoking a cigarette. He was sporting a plaid shirt and wide suspenders and seemed to be enjoying the view. "I betcha he's German," I said. We pulled up at the boat launch near to him. As we climbed out of the car, he greeted us and asked Gareth to please do up the button of his pants as he'd had a motorcycle accident and couldn't really move his left arm.

Now, I admit to exchanging a surprised and mildly suspicious glance with Gareth, but I got over it much faster. I know what went through his head: 'he's some kind of perve and wants me to touch his penis...' Back in Toronto or even South Wales, that would likely be the case. I've met a few perves in my time. Paralysed, Gareth looked somewhat horrified, so I stepped up. This, afterall, is the Yukon. Sure enough, that's what the fellow wanted. His shoulder was slumped slightly and apparently, all he could move were his fingers and his arm was numb. I suggested that he should go to hospital and even that I'd take him, but he was concerned about his bike (out in the middle of nowhere) and stated firmly that as soon as his arm felt better, he'd ride home (to Carcross, which isn't exactly a five minute drive) and get his Jeep first. Unable to disuade him, I accepted his choice and went back to Gareth.

I stooped on the boat launch and drank from the lake, which on reflection might not have been the smartest move considering the common occurance of beaver fever out here, but nonetheless, it was freezing and delicious water. Gareth took off his shoes and socks and padded out on the gravel bottom and froze his feet in the water. Faintly, all around us, we could hear the ice creaking, groaning and cracking and little chunks of slushy ice drifted past us. I saw a muskrat and I think we saw greebs floating and diving under the ice.

All the while, the man, who was indeed German, was trying unsucessfully to start his bike. Finally, as we were preparing to carry on, he called out to me and asked if I could get someone from the ranch to help him with a pick-up onto which his bike could be loaded. This was something I'd actually suggested earlier, when he was more obstinate, considering it would be nearly impossible to steer a motorcycle one-handed anyway. I agreed (and was going to do it even without him asking), so Gareth and I piled back into the car and drove back to the ranch where we asked them for help. The ranchers immediately jumped to action in their pickup and we were satisfied that we'd done the right thing. As it was approaching our appointed D&D date, we decided not to carry on to the base of the mountain, but turn around and head back into the city.

On the road, we stopped to take photos. The pickup passed us and we waved. Then, back in our car, we carried on again, only to pass the pickup, which was now stopped at the side of the road. At first I was concerned and then I realised they'd stopped to help out another pickup, much older and beaten up, which had obviously died. There was the guy from the ranch leaned over the old truck's open hood with its driver, and there was the German biker sitting in the ranch's pickup. We waved again and carried on, only to be passed once more as we were again stopped and snapping photographs. We were looking down into a steep, deep gorge and saw what we think was an old car wreck, twisted and rusting amongst the trees.

The Yukon is a strange place where it is second nature to help those in need. Survival in this harsh and remote land would be impossible without the aid of others. Even so close to Whitehorse, the land is wild and dangerous. It was a good and powerful demonstration of what living here is about. Beauty, vastness, remoteness, climate, danger, and co-operation. It was certainly a varied day for us, and quite unlike what we expected.