In winter, the campground serves as a dog yard for the Yukon Quest. I aimed to take the former spot of Hans Gatt, the race's winner at site 14, but it was a bit small and didn't have a parking spot, so I took sit 15 across the street.
I wasn't out of my car for a minute before I was greeted by a sprightly young woman who was working with the Yukon parks service. It was her second summer in Dawson City; she was from Alberta. We chatted and she tried to give me bunches of "insider tips" about the Arctic. I told her I was from Fairbanks and only staying a night, so she gave me the skinny on what I actually wanted to know: what was on sale at the grocery store, what bars were open and that there was a "boneyard" of old ships at the end of the campground.
I thanked her and we each promised to meet up later. While walking to the ferry, I
"Last year, a man got between a sow and her cub," she told me, "and they found parts of him on both sides of the campground." She cracked a smile as she said this. Sorry honey, but no one remembers seeing human limbs with that level of fondness.
I realized that the tour-guide experience was not going to stop, so I packed up my car and took it on the ferry to Dawson City.
Maybe on another day I would have appreciated being a tourist, but I was looking for some solace on that particular afternoon. I grabbed a couple of Yukon Golds and a burger at what was the News-Miner "office" during the Quest: the Downtown Hotel saloon. They were served to me by an Australian chap who had never seen snow in the Yukon.
I stopped by the grocery store and paid an egregious $7 for a gallon of water, then took a stroll around town.
So my return to Dawson wasn't quite what I had hoped. Looks like I'll just have to make it back there in February.
The drive down the Klondike Highway was nice and relaxing. The road was relatively well-paved, and there were plenty of scenic overlooks.
The only downside was that I skipped a small hike to Five Finger Rapids because two guys were doing drugs under the boardwalk. Stay classy, Carmacks. I also forwent a planned stop at Braeburn's roadhouse for an oversized cinnamon roll; just wasn't hungry.
I snuck into Annalee's condo in Whitehorse around midnight, using a key she'd left for me. Her husky, Kya, almost killed me when I went into her room. Even though I had only been on the road for two days, it was refreshing to stay in a home and have amenities such as a refrigerator and dining room.
Annalee had to work the following three days, so I putted around downtown Whitehorse to kill time, filling two growlers with Yukon Brewery beer and getting a separating tire fixed.
On Monday evening, I joined Annalee on assignment as she took pictures at an adult-league softball game. The game was disbanded shortly after we arrived because a few players had brought beer. I did not like this league. Across the complex were a few tee ball games, so Annalee took photos there as I chilled on the grass. If you ever see two twentysomethings taking pictures at a tee ball game, don't worry; they're just journalists. Or pervs.
The next evening, we went to Schwatka Lake and the Carcross Desert, two gorgeous spots just minutes outside of Whitehorse. We relaxed, drank some wine and let Kya do her thing.


As we left, another dog tried to investigate Kya's presence. Since Kya viciously kills anything smaller than her, Annalee and I had to keep both dogs apart for a quarter mile as we walked back to the car. Nothing was killed, which is a win when you're looking after Kya.
We feasted on leftovers form a delicious (i.e. consisting of 50 percent cheese) batch of shepherd's pie and had the last guaranteed good night's sleep for a month. The next day, I played a real-life game of Tetris as I fit our belongings into my compact sedan and we hit the Alaska Highway in the early afternoon, ready to take a leisurely 24-hour drive to Calgary.
Boy, were we wrong.
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