In the Yukon it is quickly becoming the time of year where snow starts crawling down from the mountain tops, Fall skips town like a philandering bastard, the thermometer starts taunting you with negative numbers, you wake up in the morning to find the ground crunchy with frost and a thin layer of ice on your vehicle, your breath appears in the air, you have to don your long johns at all times, the shelves of Crappy Tire fill with inflatable snowmen, and trying to take a few photos along the Yukon River at sunrise is liable to leave you with frostbite on the tips of your shutter pressers.
To tide you all over until I finish sorting through the truckloads of photos I took while out in the mountains, here are 5 things I like less than being in a plane crash.
A plane crash is over quickly. Shivering all night in a pile of frosty bedrolls is not.
Although pink silk long johns may feel like the sexiest thing in the world when you’re in the mountains, they actually make you look like a plastic asexual creature. I would rather be in a plane crash than be a plastic asexual creature.
Having Nothing to Read in the Outhouse but Playgirl
Having nothing to read in the outhouse but a rogue Playgirl is funny the first few times, but after awhile a plane crash seems preferable to spending another moment with Vincenzo and his centerfold of hair pants or the 2 blond twins Doug & Doyle who like to give each other piggy backs on the beach in their matching speedos.
Trailing Horses in the Rain, Sleet, and Snow
I have ridden horses so few times in my life that even on a good day I feel certain I will never walk again and that I have probably also been sterilized. Perhaps with this in mind you can understand why I would rather be in a quick little plane crash than go on an 8 hour, 8 horse ride over 3 mountain passes in the rain, sleet, and snow. In this photo you can see Mac and JP taking advantage of the glorious weather to re-pack a horse.
Falling off a Horse
Who knew tumbling off a horse could hurt worse than a plane crash? This deadly looking double war wound is from the time I showed off my graceful riding skills by being slow-motion knocked off my horse by a tree.
Supposedly it’s the first day of Spring.
Personally, I see no signs of the elusive season … which can only mean I have returned to Canada, my home & native snowglobe.
However, this blizzard also means that in the following days my dear old neglected phlog should return to its former over-active glory and be filled with all sorts of photos from my recent adventures in Euroland. So keep warm & stay tuned!
This is the holiest week of the year in a ski-centric town. The week of the first real snowfall, that is.
All the ski-bums are frolicking about twitterpated with Mother Nature … and I’m not saying that I don’t appreciate the magic of a deep mountain winter … I’m just fucking cold.
I know, I know … today it was allegedly -127 degrees Celsius in Fort St. John (my Northern hometown). But I happen to know for a fact that you all live in new-ish, well-insulated homes with central heating systems. I, on the other end of the province, live in a heritage home which turns into a drafty deep freeze at the very mention of snow. So, although it may not read anywhere near -127 degrees on the thermometer, I’ve spent the better part of the week trying to avoid frostbite in my own house.
Due to a variety of size and positioning factors, our little office happens to be the warmest place in the entire house. It’s as toasty as a sauna once you suit up in your long janes, wool socks, slippers, scarf, fur hat, and mittens, have a couple cups of tea and bottles of beer, and do a few blood circulating exercises. Although, I am starting to wonder if I’m beginning to exhibit signs of cabin fever by spending so much time in the office.