Man's best friends in Churchill, Manitoba

Churchill, Manitoba, is famous for quite a few things—mainly its northern lights and polar bears, although the dog sledding adventure was also a big draw for me!

Churchill isn’t the easiest place in the world to get to, indeed some might say it’s pretty tough. While I flew in on one of those neat little planes that only holds a handful of people, (in fact, it’s so small you don’t even get a seat assignment!) you can also take VIA Rail.

Inuksuk in Churchill

Since the weather is usually a little milder by March, when I went, a few hardy travelers had elected to come by snowmobile. For those who miss the roads, Gillam, 170 miles south of Churchill, has the nearest roads outside of local travel around the airport and small community.

The thing that amazed me the most, since I live in the snow zone, was how white everything was. Back home, in Qu’Appelle, the snow blows, picking up field dirt, and makes our drifts more dirty gray than white. Churchill, however, had pure  white  snow that sparkled in the sunshine, and a sky so blue it seemed like I was looking up at an artificial dome of some sort.

I’d arrived with the knowledge that Churchill was on the tree line, but standing on the flat, flat snow in the town and seeing what looked rather like a hedge someone had planted, in the distance, was still a surprising sight. Even more surprising was the little ice hummocks on Hudson Bay, that had pushed up as the water froze below—they seemed to be beautiful carvings rather than something nature had created.

Dogsledding in Churchill

I couldn’t resist the glorious day with temperatures just below freezing, so immediately set out for a walk around town. First stop was the craft store, that seemed to have everything from fur parkas to hand-crafted moccasins and artwork. I couldn’t resist stopping to chat with some of the local artisans, who managed to answer my questions while their busy fingers worked away. A stone Inuksuk stood at the outskirts of town, providing guidance on the best paths to take on my walk.

The next day was dedicated to dogsledding, which was awesome. While my girlfriend bundled up in the sleigh, I stood on one side of the rigging at the back next to Dave—my job was to hold the brake or anchor into the snow when we stopped. The dogs started off, pulling us through a land of magic so quiet I could hear my own breathing, along with the crunching of the snow as we floated over it.

Tundra Buggy - photo from Travel Manitoba

Taking the tundra buggy out over the same terrain that night provided an entirely different kind of experience. The immense vehicle crawled over the snow, giving us lots of time to sip hot chocolate and eat dessert while we waited for my other must-do of the trip—view the Northern Lights. The aurora borealis danced into the night right on schedule, filling the sky directly overhead with a multitude of colours ranging through whites, greens, and hints of reds.

And if you really want a treat in Churchill, check out Churchill Wild. The caribou, served with locally picked cranberries and wild rice, introduced me to some of the north’s most tempting main courses. Dessert, cranberry cake and blueberry cream cheese tart, finished off the best meal of the trip.

Northern Lights - photo from Travel Manitoba

The polar bears, unfortunately, hadn’t made their way back to Churchill yet when I visited, so that gave me a reason to plan another trip to Churchill. Sometimes a trip can be disappointing when you have built up great expectations, but Churchill managed to surpass mine!

WHEN YOU GO:

Travel Manitoba
http://www.travelmanitoba.com
1-800-665-0040

Churchill, MB, Chamber of Commerce
http://www.churchill.ca/

Churchill Wild!
Polar Bears, Fire & Ice adventures, Northern Lights — Aurora Borealis
http://www.churchillwild.com/

Tundra Buggy Tours
Polar Bears, Northern Lights — Aurora Borealis, 2004 Ecotourism Award
http://www.tundrabuggy.com/

Photos of the Northern Lights and the Tundra Buggy & Polar Bears are courtesy of Travel Manitoba. All other photos are by Linda Aksomitis.

by Linda Aksomitis

David & Linda Aksomitis with the Scandic on Trek over the Top

I’m not a mountain person. I’m not even really a hill person. I’m also somebody who knows too much for her own good sometimes. So, when my husband, David, and I planned a snowmobile adventure trail ride for the Yukon last winter, I was sure I knew exactly what to expect. An empty horizon as white and flat as the eye could see–I’d been to Churchill, Manitoba, after all, so knew exactly what the far north looked like.

As to the snow covered highway we’d be trailing over, named the Top of the World Highway, well, everybody knew that the Yukon and Alaska were at the top of the world. Didn’t they?

The far (farther than Churchill) north I soon discovered, as my husband and sons had maintained, wasn’t flat. Not even remotely. So much for being the experienced traveler.

The closer our rental truck came to Tok, bouncing over the rolling Alaska Highway, the more panic grew like a lump of black bitter coal in my throat. I held out a hope–a very small one–that the mountains would suddenly fold back into the tundra where they belonged. They didn’t.

None of this, of course, dampened David’s spirits. By 5 a.m. (8 a.m. I must admit on Saskatchewan time) Thursday morning, we were up, repacking our necessities to take with us on the snowmobile, and heading to the Alaska Trailblazers facility in Tok. I was shaking in my boots. He had a grin that spread from one ear right to the other.

Registration went fine. We drew our numbers for the poker run, although why we bother I’m still not sure–in thirty years of snowmobile runs neither of us has ever even come close to winning a penny. It’s a good thing we go for the snowmobile trail ride!

Breakfast went much too quickly, although we did meet and talk to a few other snowmobilers. Finally it was back to the Trailblazers building to break open the hotshots for my snowmobile boots and mitts, and pull on as many layers of clothing as I thought I could manage and still be able to bend. After all, it was -35 and we’d already been warned it would be -40 or lower when we dropped elevation on the trail.

I was glad to see a few other women dressing. And talking. One grimaced. “How’s it this year? Better?”

The other said, “If it’s not, I’m turning around.”

I quickly withdrew. Whatever it might be, I hoped it was gone altogether!

David and I pulled out with some of the earliest snowmobiles. Our rental was far from his choice of machinery–a wide-track Ski-Doo Skandic. He looked enviously at the  REVs and mountain sleds. We did, at least, have enough room in our cargo area for the fuel can and a single bag for the weekend, while others had to tarp strap things on wherever they would fit.

We spent the first five miles getting used to the Skandic. There was no pretending it was meant for anything other than being a pack-mule, and I was the pack straddled over the wide seat, slip-sliding under David and generally getting shook to bits. I already knew from years of experience that I’d have to be able to ride as fast as the machine could reasonably carry us if I wasn’t going to drive myself, so I gritted my teeth and tested different riding styles.

Sleds on the Trek over the Top trail--photo courtesy Yukon Tourism

While those first seventy-five miles into Chicken were cold–and I do mean cold–they were also windy and smooth and fast. We soon had a rhythm going and I started to appreciate the sled, even without handwarmers or other such luxuries as normally are found on 2-up sleds.

The stop in Chicken took awhile–we set our helmets on the rack over the woodstove to dry out, ate some hot dogs, and did a few stretches to get the kinks out. So far there hadn’t been anything I couldn’t handle, and I was beginning to relax.

Soon after we left Chicken, I formed my own opinion on where the name came from. Everybody who was too chicken to go any further stayed behind!

Those next sixty or so odd miles to Boundary had mountains that were higher and rougher and steeper than anything we’d covered yet. The temperature, though, was rising, and the sun had finally popped over the mountain peaks. We were making good time and I wasn’t even particularly cold. Things looked good, until I remembered that we were on the Taylor Highway to Boundary (which is at the U.S./Canada border), and the Top of the World Highway was yet to come.

All that bouncing–and a cold one in Boundary, while David helped two non-mechanics fix their snowmobile, meant I had to check out the outdoor facilities. Much to my amazement, I discovered northern toilet seat covers, shaped out of styrofoam pieces, provided a non-icy surface for outdoor plumbing fixtures. Who knew?

We spent about an hour stopped, fixing the sleds, and getting to know the two guys David had helped–Jason and Mike (who helped make the whole trip memorable), so snowmobile after snowmobile stopped, fueled, then continued on past us.

The worst, we soon realized, loomed on the horizon. Jason and Mike assured us they’d wait to make sure we made it past–it now had a time–the terrible terrace.

Warm as toast, but shaking in my boots anyway, we climbed up out of Boundary with the snowmobile and tackled the next part of trail. It climbed and twisted and turned and then … the road disappeared beneath a rock-solid snowdrift that lay at a 45 degree angle from the top of the mountain to the next ridge.

David slowed the snowmobile,  threw his weight to the inside, and started across the terrace.

I screamed. “Let me off! I’ll walk!” I yelled.

He ignored me.

The wind caught and the sled drifted a little lower. David feathered the throttle. I threw my rear up over the side, hanging over the steel frame of the cargo box.

We inched along the terrace trying not to look aaaaaallll  the way to the bottom–imagine I told myself, that it’s only a sixty foot coulee–I’d jumped those before with my snowmobile and survived to tell the tale (the sled had too, but its condition may be one of the reasons David prefers to have me where he can see what I’m doing).

The first terrace was maybe half a mile, the second one was longer. I didn’t do any more screaming–it took too much energy, which I needed for throwing myself from side to side to help hold the snowmobile from careening down the mountainside.

Before the last sixty miles was done we’d traversed another couple of terraces; driven well above the treeline at the mountain top, in winds so high I thought my helmet would be yanked off my head, or well, maybe with my head; and passed most of the snowmobiles that had gone through while we were stopped. That’s one of the risks of riding behind a retired snowmobile racer–he can’t stand to drive behind another sled.

Dawson City below, looking down from the surrounding mountains

I’ve never been happier to see anywhere in my life than Dawson City when it  appeared in the valley below us! I was tired and sore and hungry–and more than a little ready for the good time and relaxation that followed for the next few days.

When it was time for the return journey Sunday morning we felt like pros–hey we’d done the 200 miles once, so the second time I could just relax and enjoy the scenery (right?). We were far from the first to leave for the return half of the Trek retracing our path, but much to everyone’s surprise, we were the first riders in to Chicken–and have our Chicken keychain souvenirs to prove it–and the first ones back in to Tok, Alaska. To those shaking heads and muttered, “Two-up riders on a Skandic; who’d believe it?” we can only say, hey, it was a great ride and we’ll be back to do it again.

Somewhere in those mountains I left my fear of heights (at least while snowmobiling) and we both found a love for the Yukon–David’s even trying to convince me to move. Who knows?

If You Go:

More about Trek Over the Top: http://www.trekoverthetop.com/

Copyright September 2006 by Linda Aksomitis. All rights reserved.