Once upon a time at the edge of a forest beside a river there was a magical place, Glenora, a golden valley in the northern wilds of British Columbia. Even its name had the lilt of birdsong, Glenora: glenn, the Gaelic word for valley; and ora, Spanish for gold.
One Sunday in the summer warmth of June, a man called Magellan and his wife Spice decided they wanted to camp at Glenora after hearing about its charms earlier that afternoon.
I’ve wanted to see them for decades.
Ever since I saw their photos back in the 70s, mystical figures of ghostly grey imparting a powerful, compelling presence.
The totem poles at Ninstints on Haida Gwaii.
It’s the only place on Haida Gwaii where they still stand. A dozen of them, disciples of the supernatural, silently keeping watch.
Discovering the literature and poetry of a country we’re visiting: for me this is one of the greatest pleasures of travel. And what a thrill when it happens in your own country like it did in the Yukon this summer. Read more
If our marriage lasts, we’ll celebrate our 50th wedding anniversary next Friday!
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“And we should call it Latitude 65,” Magellan said five years ago when he floated the idea of a blog about our travels, the black-sky rains of November pelting our windows on the forty-ninth parallel in Vancouver.
What places, I’ve always wondered, are on the circle of latitude 65° N of the Earth’s equatorial plane?
And if we were nearby, how would we know the exact spot?
“We’ll be at latitude 65 this morning,” said Magellan as we left Yukon’s Tombstone Territorial Park where we’d camped the night before on our driving trip up to Tuktoyaktak.
Orchid Acres. That’s an oxymoron isn’t it? “Orchid” and “Acres” are two words that just don’t belong together.
Where in the world do you find acres of orchids? You’re lucky to see a single, wild orchid in an acre of tropical rainforest.
Except, except for Orchid Acres, in West Dawson, Yukon, off Sunnydale Road on the Top of the World Highway, overlooking Dawson City.