Up the Yukon with a paddle

RICK DAVIES

Three flights, five hours on a dirt road and the Wellington winter couldn't have seemed further away. It's summer, and standing in the warm sun on the shores of Quiet Lake, I ponder what is ahead of me.

The driver who has dropped us here deep in the Yukon territory of Western Canada's vast interior takes off back down the dirt road. It will be 12 days before we will see him again . . . if we are lucky. I stand with my mate Tim and an 18-foot Canadian canoe, and the Canadian wilderness couldn't feel more remote.

We're canoeing down the Big Salmon River that cuts through the Yukon territory - an area larger than Germany, Belgium, Denmark and the Netherlands combined, with only the population of Gisborne, about 35,000. And we could tell.

We flew from Vancouver up to Whitehorse, the Yukon's largest town. From the air, the Yukon looks like Earth before human civilisation. The wilderness is endless. We've seen one vehicle on the five- hour drive to the lake from Whitehorse, and the driver's final words - "You're on your own out here" - are echoing through our minds.

Our gear includes a rifle and fishing rod. Carrying a firearm for wildlife protection is permitted, and recommended, in Canada's wilderness. Bears have always fascinated me, and I hope I will be lucky enough to see one in its natural environment, although I certainly never want to pull the trigger on one.

We also have a can of bear repellent - seriously strong pepper spray. This will be the first line of defence should we need it.

The first two days require us to cross three lakes. It's hard to believe how warm it is considering we're not far from the Arctic Circle, with Alaska lying off to the west.

As we cross the lakes, we both sit silently in awe of the incredible beauty of the wilderness that surrounds us. My senses are heightened. The landscape is massive. Mountains covered in fir trees, lush green grass, crystal clear water, eerie silence and a sky that seems to go forever.

The North American wilderness has always fascinated me, and while I gaze around this wonderland, anxiety gives way to absolute euphoria. We select an incredibly scenic spot on the side of Sandy Lake to camp for our first night. Once out of the canoe, a quick glance downward brings home the reality of where we are: big bear prints dot the sand right along the bank.

Seeing animal prints far larger than any animal that exists back home is a sobering moment for a Kiwi. Bears scare the hell out of me. But this is their home, and I am a visitor. I need to get over this fear if I am to cope with the two weeks in front of me.

Up here, it is light for 24 hours a day. It gets a little hazy between 1am and 3am, but there is still plenty of visibility.

The first attempt at throwing the fishing line out proves successful, and before long I've caught at least half a dozen fish. The river is well known for its salmon run, but we're visiting a couple of weeks early.

Our dinner for the night is Arctic grayling. With a slice of lemon and cooked over the fire, it's delicious.

Once in the river proper, sweepers and strainers - trees blocking the river - are common in the first few days. In one instance, a log jam has blocked the entire river. The current is fierce so we pull to the side and assess our options.

Experienced canoeists would have unpacked everything and carried it to the other side. Not us though, it seems like too much hard work. We wade into calmer waters, pull out Tim's trusty saw, and begin what becomes two hours of sawing trees, dragging branches and pulling the canoe over the log jam.

We're busy adapting to a new way of life, far removed from sitting at a computer desk in Wellington.

Our days now consist of five hours of paddling, setting up the tents, building a shelter, lighting a campfire, cooking dinner and the endless packing and repacking of the canoe.

It's a life I'm beginning to love, waking up each day more energised than ever. Decisions are based purely on survival, and the complexities of the modern world do not exist.

Bald eagles are common here, perhaps as common as magpies back home. Eagles, beavers, otters and even a porcupine are our company now. Not to mention other plentiful birdlife, fish, frogs and unknown sounds in the night. This is true wilderness. We have still not seen the elusive bear or moose, though. We have seen many footprints, heard strange sounds in the woods, but we are yet to lock eyes with one.

I experience a strange contrast of desires. On one hand I desperately want to see a bear in its natural environment. On the other, we do everything imaginable to avoid a dangerous encounter. It is the sixth night. I wake in a sleepy daze. A quick check of the watch shows it is 4.06am. Lying there with eyes shut, I realise I have woken for a reason. I am listening to strange sounds, branches cracking and water splashing. I fling myself up and pin my eyes against the mesh of my tent. I'm sure I'm about to see a bear, my heart is pumping a million beats. Then I see it, a huge moose and her calf only metres from our tents, crashing their way along the edge of the river. They are a spectacular sight, and only now do I appreciate the sheer size of these animals. I call Tim, and he awakes expecting the worst. Once reassured that there is a moose at our camp, and not a bear, we both watch and enjoy the incredible close encounter. A couple of nights later, our tents are pitched down on a sandy bank at the river's edge. We are about 50 metres into the woods where we sit gazing into our campfire, while sipping a hot chocolate mixed with a shot of Jack Daniel's. A delicious drink, one that we later officially named the Jackie Salmon.

The undergrowth in the woods is thick. Suddenly we hear a large branch snap in the woods. Judging by the look in Tim's eyes, we are thinking the same thing. In an instant we are standing, gun loaded, bear spray ready.

We watch the woods in silence. More branches snap. We can see where the animal is, by the trees swaying and the cracking of branches as it stomps a path through the undergrowth. It must be 30 to 40 metres from us. We wait, and as we do, the animal walks away through the woods and into the distance. Absolute silence returns.

A few minutes later we head back to the tents. We now get the proof we need. Huge, fresh bear tracks dot the sand. The tracks emerge from the woods, round our tents, and then head into the direction of the sounds we have just heard. Not only that, there are baby bear tracks too.

This is a close call. Clearly she knows our whereabouts, and has chosen not to approach us, but the realisation that we have nearly had a dangerous encounter with a mother bear is all too real.

We are starting to emerge from the narrow mountain valley now, and the river is getting wider and faster. There have been many river hazards on the trip so far, but with a combination of luck, teamwork, and good old common sense, we have managed to navigate them all safely without tipping the canoe.

A couple of days later I gaze across from our camp to where I can see some movement. It takes a few seconds to realise, but we are looking at a wolverine, a rarely seen carnivore with a ferocious reputation. The animal has wandered out of the woods, and is walking along the river edge. It hasn't noticed us, so we sit quietly watching it, privileged with this remarkable and unexpected sighting.

It is our last day on the Big Salmon River now, after which we will join the giant Yukon River. We have only just left camp. The current is swift and river hazards are keeping us alert when I suddenly hear a few stones fall. I immediately look to my right, and within a split second I find myself staring eye-to-eye with a huge grizzly bear.

There he is in his natural habitat, this wild, powerful, apex predator staring right at me. I have always wondered how I will react in this situation, and there is no panicking, just overwhelming exhilaration. It helps that there are a few metres of swift water between us, so I feel reasonably safe, and in a position to enjoy the encounter.

After a few seconds of eye- to-eye contact, he starts to run away. Then he realises that this is his territory, not ours, and he stops and begins staring intently at us again. I say a few words to him so he will associate human sounds with the danger that we unfortunately present. This is a magical experience, one I will never forget. The grizzly bear - huge, powerful and truly wild.

We paddle on and arrive at the confluence of the Big Salmon and Yukon rivers. There is an old Indian encampment here, which, after the arrival of settlers, became a trading village. The remains of old log cabins make for a fascinating wander, and the area makes a great camping spot.

We have paddled on the Yukon for two days. It's a huge river, which winds its way across Alaska to the Bering Sea for more than 3000 kilometres.

I had travelled 400km by river and spent two weeks in paradise. A trip of a lifetime? I think so.

If you had one wild trip to anywhere in the world, where would you go? And why?

- Your Weekend