A Walk in the Woods

“Vacation” evokes varied expectations and intentions.   One person may plan for late mornings and later nights, another for moonlit walks on the beach, another for endless food and drink.  In my case, vacation provides the opportunity for a real treat – early morning walks in the woods -- and I do mean early.  I love the birds that chatter at dawn.  I love the way the rising sun adds sparkle to the leaves and color to the horizon.  I truly love being the first to discover the new day. 

I have always been an early riser, and even in the “real world,” morning walks are a treat I plot out as I fall asleep after a long day’s work.  But on vacation, my mornings are not crowded with classroom preparations, papers to grade, and the daily routines that keep me oddly busy at home.  On vacation, I can pull on my walking shoes and zip out the door without any responsibilities slowing my steps. 

The Kluane Range

Thus, pulling into our site at Haines Junction, Yukon, my little heart went pitter pat to see a 5.5 km river trail leading off from the RV park – with promises of outstanding views of the Kluane Range.  The sun beat hard and hot at 7:00 pm, but as the last notes of the Kluane Mountain Blue Grass Festival (more on that later) carried us back to our RVs at 11:30 pm, the temperature had dropped, and I anticipated a cool morning for the next day’s walk.  Of course, all that sunrise stuff is strictly out – at midnight, the sun was still shining brightly in Haines Junction, and I knew it would rise again about 4:30 am.  I have no problem getting up at 4:30 to catch a sunrise, but 4 ½ hours’ sleep makes for a dozy drive the next day, and I don’t want to miss a single sight of this fantastic scenery.  So I slept until 5:00.

Not surprisingly, greeting me around the first corner of the path was a sign proclaiming “You are in Bear Country.”  Now, this is not a cute slogan intended to lure visitors to the Yukon; it’s true -- There be bears – black, brown, and grizzly.  I can hear y’all gasping -- Walking alone?  In the woods?  At dawn? In BEAR COUNTRY?   I am aware.  I am cautious.  But I am not going to stay inside and miss out on some of my greatest pleasure just because there be bears.  (And don’t get me started on bear spray, please).   When walking in bear country, experts suggest that the walker make noise rather than practicing First Nation stalking techniques.  Snap the twigs under each step, walk and talk, sing a little song.  Well, two opportunistic mosquitoes saved me from any need to invent a noise maker.  I slapped and clapped at them as I entered the misty woods where pines and aspen coexisted in a painter’s palette of greens. 

A sudden rustling of leaves gave me a little warning before the hillside to my right erupted in a cacophony of breaking branches and rolling stones.  I froze as a large body of fur hurtled down the hill heading for a spot about 20 feet in front of me, then ran past me into the woods, doubled back to circle around me, and dashed back into the woods – tail wagging happily and tongue flopping as he effortlessly leapt over brambles and bushes at least four feet high.  I laughed in startled relief, only to find another furred creature – this time quite large and BLACK hurtling directly toward me.  After a moment’s shock, I realized that this too was a dog – but still -- big, black, and headed right for me.  Really, there was nothing for me to do.  I couldn’t get out of its way, and I certainly couldn’t outrun it, so I stood there – to be greeted by another tail wagging “woof” before this one also raced into the woods.  With the dogs crashing through the woods, all concern for inadvertently startling a bear evaporated with the mist on the peaks.  All creatures great and small within a 5 km radius were surely awake and well warned that the woods had visitors.  

Buddy and Crazy One

Now, I know almost nothing about dogs.  My only dog experience was the Pomeranian-Pekinese fluff ball that kept me company while I recovered from hip surgery at age 5.  He raced around our yard like a thing possessed, barked at everything, and nipped our friends when they tried to pet him.  He slept on my casts and licked my hands.  But generally, my adult experiences have taught me that dogs come with humans carrying plastic bags, so I walked on, anticipating that the dogs would gambol back with their owner in tow.  And in fact, they did so gambol – but the only towing involved the black dog and a “stick” around which he barely fit his massive jaws and which extended at least three feet on either side of his head. 

Tail still wagging, he ran full tilt toward me, dropped his tree, and raced back into the woods. 

Buddy with two sticks

He didn't seem to like actual sticks, preferring to retrieve wood fit for log cabin construction or a roaring campfire.  He tried to drag entire downed trees from the underbrush, but lost focus as soon as his friend came racing back.

These hilarious monsters -- I dubbed the bush-vaulting white-ish one “Crazy One” and the black lumberjack “Buddy” --   stayed with me for a full hour as I explored the trail.  They chased every squirrel and bird, dove repeatedly into the Kluane River, and engaged in endless games of “I dare you” and “Bet you can’t catch me.”  They returned to me after each mad dash into the woods, and Buddy marked our passage with an entire bonfire worth of branches.  As the trail wound back to the RV park, Buddy began to wear down and walked at my side for minutes at a time.  Now and then, the top of his damp head would brush my fingers, and when I looked down he would look up – and I swear he smiled.