Arctic Daughter

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Jean Aspen. Arctic Daughter

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Arctic Daughter

A Wilderness Journey

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As we slowly motored, we searched for that elusive other shore and our next landmark, the small town of Fort Yukon, some days travel away. When we stopped the engine far from land and drifted, we found ourselves on a smooth lake of sunlit water melting into flat, blue sky where magic islands seemed to float. Only the uneasy boils on the smooth surface and hypnotic hiss of silt against the hull told of our travel.

Night had already settled upon the lands to the south while our tireless sun circled the sky, dipping northward as evening descended. From shore came the first sigh of cool dampness as the earth awoke from its afternoon doze. We spun past high cutbanks anchored in shadow and guarded by fallen trees, “sweepers” thrashing in the current. It was no place to practice our beaching techniques. Here, close to land, we were suddenly reminded of the speed and power of the water. The dark shore seemed ominous after the innocent dazzle of the river. I squinted and rubbed my salt-crusted eyes, searching the shadows where soon we must land. I ought to have a hat, I thought irritably. Uncertainly, I chewed my lower lip where the skin was already peeling. A few more days of this and I’ll be fried. I had forgotten the Arctic could be so hot.

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