Trust
In recent years, I’ve gotten a pre-emptive homesickness that settles in right before a trip. It’s deep in my stomach and it twists and turns and convinces me that leaving home is a bad idea. That being home is best. That going away is disruptive, expensive, and perhaps even dangerous. That it’s just easiest to stay home. Maybe it’s because of the dogs that I don’t want to go, or maybe it’s because I genuinely love where I live.
This fall I had an infected finger. It ballooned, the tip of my finger swelling to twice its normal size. The skin was hard and shiny and red. My husband told me to go to the health centre in our community, but it took stubborn me five full days to heed this advice. I was in Whitehorse, on my way to Utah and Arizona, a trip my best friend of twenty years and I had been planning for months. I went to a walk-in clinic where the doctor told me that, yes, I should have listened to C. He chastised me and said I’d need to be on oral and topical antibiotics and that if the infection didn’t subside, I’d have to come home. Travel insurance wouldn’t cover an existing medical issue, and besides, you’re immune-compromised, he said!
That’s it, I told myself. The trip was a bad idea. I knew it. And my mind was off, rattling through all the possible worst-case scenarios that might happen: We’d have to drive for hours through rural Utah to get to an airport while my body fought off a life-threatening infection. My best friend would never forgive me for having to cut the trip short. Her experience would be ruined. I’d lose a friendship and a finger.
The trip to Arizona and Utah came on the heels of a hiking trip in the summer. I’d been given the opportunity to participate in five-day trip into Kusawa Territorial Park. I would be taken to our hiking destination on a float plane. And it wasn’t just any destination; it was a route specifically designed, with intention, by the lead guide and Yukon Alpine Adventure owner, Olivier Clements. It would be unlike anything I’d ever experienced, and I was nervous. Very.
My nervousness was compounded by the fact that my three closest friends in Beaver Creek were all moving away. I said my final goodbyes to each of them and then I headed off to Whitehorse where I would meet my fellow hikers for the Kusawa excursion. Tears streamed down my face. I was overwhelmed by a sense of loss, wondering how I would navigate daily life in Beaver Creek without the regular company of these three significant women. My general anxiety about the trip ahead was heightened by the sadness I felt. Had I made a big mistake? Hiking with people I didn’t know in an area I wasn’t familiar with. No husband, no childhood friend, no close female buddies. Just me and a group of strangers. What had I been thinking! But, as soon as I met my fellow hikers, my worries were replaced with a happy and freeing sense of excitement.
The trip did not disappoint. We hiked through meadows of exquisite alpine flowers, gazed starry eyed at kilometres-long vistas, and ate meals the thought of which still make me salivate. Bannock in the backcountry, for example! Noticing and appreciating all we saw together. I was in heaven. A heaven that was challenging in the best of ways. I felt cared for and supported even as I hiked. We traversed the moss covered alpine each day and at the end of the trip I felt utterly privileged at having been a part of it. Four new friends, who had in common a profound reverence for the beauty and might of the landscape and wildlife around us. Four people similarly awestruck by everything from the tiny flowers to the lone caribou who crossed our path, or the grizzly we saw in the distance. Four people who were inspired to laugh and to share and to trust.
Perhaps trust is what it’s about. Perhaps it’s one of the gifts the Yukon has to offer. The three Beaver Creek friends who’d moved away showed me this. One was my first friend in Beaver Creek. She taught me about local plants and animals and her knowledge helped me develop a deep reverence for Yukon’s nature. Blueberries, cranberries, spruce tips—I learned to respect and appreciate what the land has to offer. Another was the friend with whom I spent hours in the moss, laughing and talking and reflecting. Moss girls, we called ourselves. And for the third friend and me, nature was the perfect place in which to process difficult things. We meditated among the trees, made food together at the water, and reflected on our good fortune at being able to experience this beautiful part of the world together. Nature’s challenges meant we had to trust one another, and, in this way, gave us permission to be open and honest.
Despite my infected finger and my panicky trepidation, I went to Utah and Arizona with my friend. Once again, nature and friendship rewarded me. A glass house in the middle of the desert, hikes in the Grand Canyon, cacti and horses and awe-inspiring rock formations, winding roads and taco stops. A different kind of heaven. But still nature. And with that, still the deep level of trust. It was beautiful. And wonderful. And perfect. None of the nightmarish scenarios I’d imagined happened. We laughed, we spent time close to nature, we talked and talked and talked, we drove, and we laughed more.
I am fortunate. I have a wonderful husband. I have good friends. I live in a beautiful place. I am happy to stay where I am, to enjoy what is around me, to remain settled in my routine. And change makes me anxious. Probably this is the real reason for my apprehension before trips. I like the familiar. I like to feel I have control, even if I know that I don’t really. My life here in Canada’s north has helped me realize this. That I am small and vulnerable and that that’s okay. I have learned that beautiful things come from trust. Trust in friends, trust that challenges are opportunities, trust that change is inevitable and will be good, trust in the universe. In nature.
My trip this summer was the opportunity of a lifetime, and it left my heart full and my soul yearning for more such moments in the Yukon alpine. I was fortunate to participate in Yukon Alpine Adventures’ inaugural trip, which took me and three other guests into Kusawa Territorial Park, within the traditional territories of the Kwanlin Dün First Nation, Champagne and Aishihik First Nations, and Carcross/Tagish First Nation.
Yukon Alpine Adventures is a Yukon-based guiding company owned and operated by Olivier Clements, a guide and adventurer with extensive experience in the backcountry. There are many guiding companies in the Yukon, but Olivier strives to do things differently at YAA. YAA has established a commitment to work with Yukon First Nations to ensure their land is used thoughtfully and respectfully. The company has committed to receiving consent from the nations whose land they’re operating on, to avoid competition with Indigenous guiding companies, and to engage in profit-sharing with the Indigenous communities whose land they access.
I’ve been so inspired by the work Olivier is doing with YAA. The company is committed to guiding in a way that honors the land and its people. It was a privilege to join Olivier and his guests on the trip this summer. It was an experience better than I could have imagined. It was five days full of laughter, connection, learning, and the most beautiful sights I’ve seen. If you’ve ever been interested in visiting the Yukon and want to experience the backcountry in a way that allows you to feel safe, cared for, and part of something truly good, check out what YAA is doing. Who knows, maybe I’ll see you on a trip, because one trip with them isn’t enough!