the yukon
part 1
Today I want to share a story with /b/ about my winter deep in the Yukon with my grandfather and the strange things that occurred during those dark, frozen months. Quick note, this story is a little long.
About three years ago, when I was at the spry age of 18, I had decided that I wanted to take a year off of school before going to university, do a bit of soul searching if you will. Well, as it happened my father decided that this would be a great opportunity. You see, my Grandfather Dana had been trying to get me to go out to his cottage for a few years now, to "Learn a little about yourself and your heritage".
Now, my grandfather is the toughest son of a bitch I have ever seen in my life; an example:
When I was 15 my family took me skiing in Jasper and my grandfather tagged along, during that trip Dana hit a fallen log that had been ever so lightly covered in snow and plowed straight into a spruce tree.
Tore his lip open down to the cheek. Once we caught up to him and started freaking out and talking of getting an ambulance he just calmly stood up, told us (while his lip was hanging open enough to see his teeth) that he would be fine and was going to go back to the lodge to "patch himself up".
As it turns out this involved him skiing all the way back, grabbing a sewing needle and some fishing line, and stitching his own face back together in the bathroom mirror. An hour later he was back out on the slopes as though nothing had happened. He still has a vicious scar too. >>697388445
He is a born Swede, a massive guy, around 616 and pretty muscled despite being in his 60's. He's a pretty quiet guy and rather eccentric (he lives on his own in the middle of a frozen hellscape at a time in his life where most would be retired so go figure). the main reason I hadn't gone with him sooner was because my mother was terrified of me going off to live with my "crazy relative" for any length of time, despite my father's assertion that I would be well taken care of and was old enough to fend for myself. This year was to be different though.
Through some herculean effort of coercion (likely involving the fact that I was moving out soon anyway) I was granted leave to go with him.
My family lives in Alberta and my grandfather off in the north western Yukon, past the Minto mine if anyone here knows the area. It was arranged for me to fly out and meet up with my grandfather who would then drive us out to his home.
After landing I was greeted with the amusing sight of my grandfather standing about a foot above the rest of the crowd, staring forward waiting for me. We had a quick greeting and before long had hopped in his truck and were making trail towards places where no roads go. We drove for a few hours, not much said between us, though that was pretty standard for him, and finally arrived at what appeared to be little more than a snowy plot near the treeline and away from the road.
>So where exactly is your cabin? I didn't see it on the way over. I asked him.
He turned to me and smirked.
>About three days of hiking that way He pointed into the trees.
And so began day 1 of my adventure, packs slung over my back and snow up to my calves we began to walk. Anonymous Sun 31 Jul 2016 20:1 5:58 No.697388970 Quoted By:
The first day went pretty normal, something that was not going to last let me tell you now. Along the way he would point out animal tracks and different plants, giving me th basic wilderness survival rundown. Now, I had been raise on a small acreage outside of the, also small, town of Athabasca so I was no stranger to the wilderness but even still my grandfather's knowledge of the wilds seemed near encyclopedic.
Anyway, the first day came to a close as the sun hung low in the sky and the snow glittered in the twilight, a beautiful vista if ever I had seen one. We found a small outcropping and built a fire, set a can of beans and some vegetable to cook and enjoyed the moment. I slept pretty soundly given the -20 iSh weather.
On the eve of the second day I was shaken awake and told to start walking.
>We don't want to spend more nights out here than we have to, it's only going to get colder and these woods are dangerous
Gathering up what I had (little more than a sleeping bag, cloths, some provisions, and two knives) we set off again. Now let me tell you, there is nothing more tiring than pushing through snow up to your crotch in the middle of the woods for hours and hours. I like to think lim in 0k O shape but by the time we stopped for a break some 4 hours later I was about ready to die. My grandfather, of course, seemed unphased by it.
It was around this time that I started to take note of a few things. For anyone who has lived near or spent a lot of time in the woods, you know it's a pretty lively place. lots of noise and things moving around. Not here.
In the winter, everything is still and quiet, a strange feeling when you've heard all your life that if things go quiet in the forest, something bad is near. The uneasiness was offset somewhat by the fact I was still trying to see to it that my lungs were going to explode and my grandfather's calm, uncaring demeanor.
Soon enough we had set off again. A few more hours into walking I noticed an odd little cave down the hill we were on, the opening had huge icicles hanging down the front and a few bones could be seen scattered around the area. I turned to my grandfather and asked, pointing towards it
> Should we be worried about that?
At that he stopped and looked at it for a few moments O before he just continued walking, saying nonchalantly
>No, long as we get a ways off before night it won't matter.
When we finally settled for the night, I was sure I would be out before I hit the ground but without so much as a glance I was told to wait, he was going to get firewood and start dinner. Sitting myself under a tree I watched as he walked off, leaving me alone in the dwindling light of day. sitting there, listening to the fading sound of my grandfather walking further and further away, I couldn't help but notice how strangely suffocating the woods were.
Now I had spent days camping before, sometimes with
friends and other times alone, but this seemed different.
Maybe it was the quiet, where the simple act of turning
your head to the side seemed to echo through the trees,
maybe it was the way the evergreens, burdened with snow,
seemed to blend into the growing gloom, forming strange
and inky shapes in the dim light. Whatever it was I started
to get nervous, that kind of unease that comes when you
feel like you're being watched, even though you think
you're alone.
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