Foxlily

Although the epic swarms of biting bugs were a distinct disadvantage to horse trekking in the Yukon in July, the summer wildflowers were a plus.  I didn’t recognize most of these northerly species, but did know the ubiquitous fireweed.

We started out in this cozy, comfortable cabin at Sky High Wilderness Ranch near Whitehorse.  It was clean and warm, with a good stove and large bunks. There were no mice, either;  a point that became significant to me later on.

The view from Sky High’s corrals, near the shores of Fish Lake, is spectacular.

Sky High has a sled dog kennel as well as a riding outfit.  There are about a hundred dogs.  The howl that goes up at dinnertime is memorable.  Here’s one of the kennel’s handsome residents.

Below is the magnificent Hidalgo, who ran with us on the horse trek.  Splendid creature.

Beyond Fish Lake, and outside the daunting willow thickets that surround it, lies some big, open country.  The thickets, unfortunately, block the rider’s view of it much of the time, and fighting branches becomes an exhausting proposition hour after hour.

When we weren’t in the thickets, we admired the wildflowers.  I think these are harebells.

But I have no idea what these are.

These were also unfamiliar to me.

In high, cold climates, there are often four seasons in a day.  During the more wintry hours of our ride, we sometimes saw the mountains, between showers of cold rain.

My wonderful horse, Shadow, soldiered on, impervious to rain, bugs, thickets, or swollen creeks. Here she is in one of the short willow thickets.  Others were well over the rider’s head, creating a blind, green, wet wall for mile after mile and hour after hour.   I appreciated Shadow’s willingness to keep going.  My own horses would have mutinied, and I would not have blamed them.  We were told Shadow was a rescue, who came to the ranch in bad shape and with a sour attitude.  She behaved beautifully for me:  kind, willing, energetic, and strong despite her diminutive size.   I absolutely loved her.

We eventually fetched up at this cabin, near Coal Lake.

Perhaps we should have put up our tents and stayed out under the aspens. The resident mouser, a weasel, was evidently gone for the summer, so the cabin was full of mice. They crept out at night, boldly running across us, our gear, and everything else. Their chewing and skittering would have sent me outside, tent or no tent, but for the downpours that lasted most of the nights we stayed at Coal Lake.  I kept trying to remember the incubation period for hantavirus.  Not pleasant, but still no comparison to being trapped all night on a broken boat, adrift on icy Lake Hovsgol in Mongolia, as happened to us another time.

I enjoyed the company of the bold, curious whiskeyjacks, though.  This one was feasting on a discarded pancake.