Riverdale

When our family first arrived in Whitehorse in January 2014, we took a look at the neighbourhoods in a town guide. There was Porter Creek, Copper Ridge, Hillcrest, Hidden Valley and Riverdale, amongst others. 

“I want to live here,” I announced, pointing at Riverdale.

The main reason for this declaration was that I am a huge geek and the name Riverdale was close enough to Middle Earth’s Rivendell to make me want to live there. If I could live anywhere, real or imagined, Rivendell would be the place. 

Another reason was that I saw that Riverdale had it’s own place, community centre and grocery store, making it like it’s own little small town away from the hustle and bustle of the city.

We didn’t move there that January, but here we are a year later, living in Riverdale. Plus I now work for the company that makes those very same guides. Who'd a thunk it.

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Riverdale, Whitehorse, Yukon in the winter from Grey Mountain Road. December 2014 Photo by Christa Galloway.

There are no elves gracefully patrolling the woods with bows and arrows, but it’s pretty darn magical here. Sometimes we get a great winter ice fog coming off the river, glinting in the low sun. Our protected little valley gets very little wind, so the trees tend to stay adorned with snow much of the time.

Our street is Pelly Road. It’s a quiet street with very little traffic. Looking out my front window I can imagine Oscar playing in the yard and visiting the neighbour’s trampoline with few worries. Our back yard opens onto the green belt, forest, trails and mountains.

Riverdale does have it’s dark side. Connected to Whitehorse by one bridge, the weekday commuter traffic in Riverdale can be a pain, by which I mean my commute can take 30min instead of 15min. This is why I start work at 8am, I pretty much miss the traffic completely. I know, city life eh.

A Tangent about my street, Pelly Road: The name Pelly also graces a crossing, a formation, lakes, mountains and a river, all of which were named in honour of Sir John Henry Pelly who was governor of Hudson’s Bay Company almost two centuries ago. It’s also a nickname for a pelican in Roald Dahl’s “The Giraffe and the Pelly and Me,” a thoughtful housewarming present for Oscar from family in the UK.

The winter solstice - North of 60

It is noon and the sun is a dim presence barely seen through a gap in the trees. It is the winter solstice, the shortest day in the northern hemisphere. 

This time of year the sun appears to grow heavy as it struggles to rise about the tree tops. It determinedly holds it position until early afternoon when it gratefully sinks back to warmer climes.

In Whitehorse, Yukon, the winter solstice means a mere 5 hours and 37 minutes of daylight. Here in Riverdale, an area of Whitehorse surrounded by mountains and thick evergreen forest, much of the light during this time resembles a dim blue ethereal glow more than sunlight as we know it. When the sun is at it's height, at times it illuminates the tree tops with a brief shaft of sunlight, before dipping behind another tree.

Today is the tipping point. Tomorrow the days will start getting longer. From now on I will notice on some unconscious level that the mornings are earlier, the sunset is later and the sun reaches higher in the sky. The air will seem lighter. I will appreciate the sun’s warming glow all the more for it’s previous absence.

Tonight, the longest night, is also a new moon. This will probably be the longest, darkest night of my 37 years of existence. In Whitehorse the sun will set at 3:47pm and will not rise until 10:10am. This year, for me, the longest night is a dying, a death of an old life. Part of me mourns for past dreams as I let them go, part of me celebrates a new life, new dreams. 

This solstice, my life has reached a tipping point. We’ve had a lot of struggles, but I can see a light at the end of the tunnel. I’m slowly starting to feel more confident in my new job. The long process of getting Richard certified to teach in Canada is almost over and he has just received his transcript from the University of Alberta. We are back in Yukon, the place we know we want to call home and we are stronger now, having faced the long winter. Now we can enjoy a long summer knowing we can face whatever future winters may throw at us.

And in the Galloway household, we have another reason to celebrate, aside from our bright future... it’s my half birthday. :)

A trip down memory lane

On July 19th, 2000 the Sun Princess docked in Skagway, Alaska. It was my first cruise on my first ship and Skagway was our first stop. I remember stepping off the gangway onto the dock. I had a disconcerting feeling that the cement dock was moving (it wasn't). Passengers were streaming all around me, making their way to tours and shopping. It seemed like I was the only one who didn't know what I was doing or where I was going. It was one of my loneliest days.

Yesterday I stepped on that very same dock with a different feeling entirely. I was with my husband and my son, watching Oscar see the ocean for the first time. It was February, and there was not a passenger in sight. A seal bobbed in the water, looking at us. We were alone, but not lonely. I have a peace and happiness in my life that 22-year-old me could not have foreseen.

My son, Oscar, seeing the ocean for the first time.

I was really excited to see Skagway again. It's one of the ports I'd visited the most during my time on working on cruise ships, and one of my favourite. I'd often go hiking up to Lower Dewey Lake with friends. We would picnic beside lake which could be so still the reflection was flawless. Sometimes we'd do a circuit around the lake. On top of the cliffs on the far side, if we were lucky we might see we an eagle flying beside us. It was one of the few ports where we could get a break from ship life.

Although many of my fellow crew members have been to Skagway, I don't think many have been there in the winter. Cruise ships start heading south around September.

Unlike Juneau where there is a tourist shopping area, and a separate local/crew shopping area, as far as I know, Skagway is just Skagway. I used to walk from the ship to the residential areas and wonder what they all did in the winter.

When we drove into Skagway it felt weird, like returning to a hometown after many years of being away. It looked almost exactly the same as I remembered it, only instead of crowds of people in the streets and shops, the streets were practically deserted.

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Downtown Skagway, on a beautiful February day. Photo by Christa Galloway.

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Rich was concerned about the 20 minute parking limit in Skagway yesterday (Feb 1). I told him not to worry.

The population of Skagway drops from 2,000 to 800 during the winter, and that's not factoring in almost a million people who come for the day on cruise ships.

Most of the shops were boarded up or had empty display cases in their windows. The tour company buses were all hibernating. We actually drove onto the cruise ship dock, noting our favourite restaurant, the Stowaway Cafe, had a new name, and our favourite coffee stand was still there, but closed. 

There were some cafes and restaurants open, a couple shops, and of course, the liquor store. We went to The Sweet Tooth Cafe for lunch, took a drive to the abandoned town of Dyea, and headed home.

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The Sweet Tooth Cafe, a familiar sight in the port of Skagway. 

Oh yeah, the shocking secret, or rather, the mildly surprising fact about Skagway in winter... No snow. That's right. Far from the ice-encrusted ghost town with snow drifts in the streets of my imagination, it looked pretty much the same as it does in the spring at the beginning of the cruise season. There was even green grass on the lawns. Who knew?

The road to Skagway

Yesterday we took a two-hour road trip, crossing a time zone, a provincial border and an international border. We stopped often on the the way, the scenery on the Klondike highway was fantastic. Here are some photos from the journey.

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For the next post, the shocking secret of Skagway in the winter. Okay, shocking might be an exaggeration. Mildly surprising would be more accurate. For now, I'm off to the Mile 9 dump (yes, I'm a regular now) and another road trip down Annie Lake road.

Mountain man extraordinaire

I love this picture of my husband, Richard, from yesterday. He looks happier than I've seen him look for a very long time. He's taken to northern life like a duck to water. He loves the views, the majesty of the mountains, the exploring to be done, and he secretly loves to chop wood. You can tell because his most frequent question is, "Do we need more wood chopping?" You can also tell by the way he admires his new, strong biceps.

We've heard over and over, "You either love it here or you hate it," from locals, many of them recent locals themselves. Then they peer at us intently and say "How do you like it here?" I'm always slightly surprised they need to ask, I'm sure it must be written all over the silly grins on our faces. We love it.

Yesterday was another one of those days. One of those great days. We took a road trip to a place we know very well from our cruise ship days. More about that later!

A light frosting

I woke up yesterday morning and the world was frosted white. White snow, white trees, white clouds. Later in the day the clouds broke up into regimented sections and marched across the sky, leaving behind a brilliant blue. When I left my house for my afternoon walk with Oscar, I left my camera behind, because really, how many times can you photograph the same thing? Of course, once we were out there I realized my iPhone was not going to cut the mustard so I bribed my snowsuit-clad three-year-old to return to the house with promises of hot chocolate and marshmallows so I could fetch my camera. And I'm glad I did.

Panorama

This image is actually five photos, stitched together in Photoshop. Technology can be a double-edged sword sometimes but I can't imagine I ever would have been able to stitch these five images together in the darkroom. In Lightroom however, I just choose "merge to panorama in Photoshop" and Bob's your uncle. Well, in my case, Bob is actually my dad. Hi, Dad! 

To Skagway!!! Or, well... to Carcross anyway

We left for Skagway this morning, passports at the ready, keen to see one of our most frequently visited ports from cruise ship days and in good spirits. The light was beautiful as we drove in and out of the frozen fog. We stopped every few minutes to take photos.

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The sun shining through trees on the Klondike Highway. Photo by Christa Galloway.

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The mountains near Carcross, Yukon. Photo by Christa Galloway.

During one of our frequent stops we noticed a burning smell coming from the car. Rich did an excellent impression of someone who knows about cars and declared a coolant line had split. We were both tempted to take our chances and carry on to Skagway, but the thought of being stranded in an American port during the off-season did not appeal. We decided the sensible thing to do was to turn around, but since we were only a few miles from Carcross, we decided to go that far, at least.

If I'd half hoped we'd run into a random mechanic in Carcross who would merrily fix our car and we'd be on our way, I was destined to be disappointed. I'm not sure if it was because it was a Sunday, or because it was off-season, but Carcross seemed like a ghost town. The photographer in me was delighted by the spooky village and I rushed around taking photos, my footsteps, the only sounds.

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Carcross at the White Pass and Yukon Railway bridge. Photo by Christa Galloway.

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Carcross Visitor Information with a closed sign in the window and a spooky boat in the background.

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This is the caribou statue at the entrance to the turn-off into Carcross. We passed by the turn-off on the first drive-by but decided to check it out on the way back. I've since noticed that the statue normally has a sign with a huge arrow underneath it, pointing to Carcross. I guess in the winter you need to either know where you are going, or be adventurous to find it. Photo by Christa Galloway.

After our self-guided tour of Carcross, we headed back home and I contented myself with taking pictures in our own backyard.

Next week-end, to Skagway!

Moonrise

This photo was taken shortly after we moved in. On clear days I see the moon on north side at dusk and on the south side in the morning. The moon has become full since this picture was taken and is now waning again. It's taken so long to get this up because I left the card reader for this camera in Ontario along with our potato masher and the beaters for my hand mixer. Gosh darn it.