on the outskirts of town

INUVIK, NT

Fifty–six minutes ago, the Thanksgiving long weekend drew to a close. Well, for those of you on Mountain Time it did, at least. Actually, it only drew to a close for Canadians on Mountain Time, while Americans reading this entry think my calendar is a month fast, and those of you from other countries may simply be perplexed.

Foregoing the rousing Canadian history, it so happened that this holiday weekend found my cousin Celia visiting me in Inuvik. In order to properly experience the Arctic, she really needed to get out on the land, but having neither wheeled nor treaded contraption, I could only take her out as far as someone was willing to drive us. Fortunately for us, in the Arctic it only takes about five minutes to get out of town and into the moose tracks.

Our frosty frolic took us into the Campbell Hills, an abrupt pimple of Precambrian Shield in the middle of the taiga. After following an access road for half an hour, it was time to take out the topo and compass, for there was nary a trail to wrinkle the surrounding contours.

My plan to avoid the dense brush by following a stream down to Campbell Lake appeared intelligent at first. But like reading French deconstructionists, the going soon got strenuous. The stream decided to go hors–banke, and an occasionally wet and swampy slog ensued.

Through a last clump of trees, we finally emerged on the shore of the lake. The beauty of this sudden vista did much to validate our preceding exertions, and after a quick lunch and some restorative green tea, we jauntily progressed along the lake's periphery. With occasional stops to marvel at the landscape, or make lots of noise by jumping up and down on piles of ice—okay, so that was just me—we eventually arrived at an idyllic sandy point and decided to set up camp.

The next day, we navigated through the bush to the base of the hills, loudly singing the chorus to "Northwest Passage". If the bears weren't scared off by my impression of Stan Rogers, then they would have certainly been driven away by the fact that I really did only know the chorus and consequently sang the same thing over and over.

A scramble up the scree with a cliff–face clamber or two brought us to the top of the hills and the brilliant views they afforded. Sadly, this altitudinal ascent marked the climax of the trip and it was time to head back to the highway to catch our ride. Over the course of the trip, we saw some great birds, which I will refrain from attempting to identify in public, and tracks from fox, moose, wolf and snowshoe rabbit.

Of course, I couldn't let my cousin go without a proper Northern meal. This time around it was a five spice sauce, the nuance of star anise dancing a soft-shoe over the deep brass rhythm of the caribou.

Happy T–g, all.

PHOTOS (from top to bottom)

1. The daring duo

2. Low-light campsite

3. View across Rocky Hill to Campbell Lake