Tag results for: Canada

We were in Telegraph Creek, BC, the old town. Remote and in the wilderness. Requiring a 110 kilometre drive up a steep, gravel, mountain road with double-digit grades. Pulling up alongside a woman driving a van that had passed us on the road up, Magellan asked, “Is there anything here?” “Nah, this town is abandoned. Just a museum but it looks closed.”

After driving all that way, we decided to snoop around. Walking toward the museum I saw a guy sitting above us on his porch, almost invisible behind a porch screened with a row of antlers except for his cowboy hat, white beard and striped shirt but I didn’t say anything. A few minutes later as we stood at the museum door, he walked up behind us. “Can I help you?” he asked.

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Francis Glynn

Because my mother-in-law and I shared the same initials, sometime in the last decade I started addressing emails to her as GS1, signing off as GS2.

GS1: the mother-in-law a girl dreams for, a young woman cherishes, a jubilado grieves. Read more

The Great Bears of Hyder, Alaska & Stewart, B.C: The World’s Greatest Bear Display that you can get to by Car

Salmon Glacier—the World’s Largest Road-Accessible Glacier

Calls for a BC road trip, right?

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In mid-June, I drove from Latitude 49 near the American border to Latitude 69 at Tuktoyaktuk on the Beaufort Sea, rescuing Spice along the way from the miners at Dawson City.

Connecting the dots on the 9200 km return trip to Tuktoyaktuk revealed a set of spectacles. The natural spectacles and our impressions from the people we met gave us a whole new view of the North and its people. Read more

Carcross. Welcome magazine, a publication by Yukon First Nations Culture & Tourism in my seat pocket on the Air North plane to Dawson City, was where I first I heard of this town. “Carcross,” I wrote and underlined in my journal: “Four sacred mountains, migrating swans, Emerald Lake.” (Translation: Magellan, we should go there.)

A few days later at Dänojà Zho Cultural Centre in Dawson City, our guide Sammy told us about children from his First Nation being taken away in the early 1900s to the residential school in Carcross. Obviously at that time, the town wasn’t named for a car crossing. Early stampeders to the Klondike called it “Caribou Crossing” after the herds that migrated the narrows, but soon after the name was abbreviated to Carcross. After meeting two of its residents, Shane Wally and Dominic Smith-Johns, we realized Carcross is on track to international name recognition—and if its name changes again, it’ll likely be whatever the words are for “Bike Crossing” in the Tagish language.

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It was Ruth Ann’s idea for our annual holiday. “I want to go to Dawson City,” she said, quite firmly.

We settled on meeting there on June 7 and staying four nights. A few days after we reserved our Air North flights, Magellan said he was going to drive up, meet me on June 11 and then he and I were going to drive up to Tuktoyaktak. The elders shall have their way—and I’m grateful to them both.

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