Crossing the Yukon on Three Thousand Dollars

I splurged on some luxury items, like a life jacket for the canoe leg, cigars for way out in the backcountry to counteract loneliness, a satellite communicator to stay in touch with the frenzied modern world, and a brand new tent with a fresh, unbroken zipper so the noseams won’t infuriate me at night with their annoying, hard-to-find bites. I also bought two used canoes, one for a hundred dollars I had to patch, which I’ll use to haul myself, the dogs, and a mountain of food down the Yukon River out of Dawson City and part way up a trib heading east into the Olgilvie Range. The second canoe, which cost 350, will be used to float west back to Dawson City at the end of the summer. It’ll keep me from having to hitch hike. A two-thousand dollar charter flight back is out of the question for me, a poor non-capitalist who never gave a rat shit about money my entire life because I was always too busy thinking about wild animals and how to go somewhere really remote to see them. When I was a young kid I thought I could live on the coast of Alaska and have a pet whale.

            I also bought a new battery for the long drive up. I bought cocoa, and generic coffee in a big fat can, five pounds for a few bucks, normally tastes like crap, but not when you’re living on the edge struggling in the wild for weeks at a time. Then it tastes like heaven. I don’t know what heaven tastes like though. Heaven is probably where I’m headed, in the heart of the Olgilive Range. Our true nature, perhaps, is to always retain an inner calm and do no harm. Somehow this calmness has gotten lost along the way in the hustle and bustle of a world that has accelerated ludicrously off the rails. I hope to get this tranquil mindset back by around day sixty or so, and then really enjoy the rest of the trek with a rail-thin body and a clear-eyed mind. This is my only goal besides just being out learning about one of the last great wildernesses.

            What else did I buy? Oh yeah, a pair of fishing waders for hauling my canoe up the first trib, so my feet won’t throb painfully from the cold water. I spent a hundred bucks on contour maps. It’s nice to know exactly where you are on a trip like this, so you can complete the trek and not have to wander around the same region for days looking for a pass through like Bob Marshal had to do. Often, I don’t really care where I am, as long as I’m finding food and melding with the land, melting into it like a bear. I don’t want to be a menace to nature, a big fat ass just eating up resources and taking up space, but I know this isn’t entirely possible. By being alive, you displace other life. It’s only the scale of the displacement you can control.

            In the Yukon, my most prized possession might just be a piece of fishing line wrapped around an old plastic medicine bottle with a few shiny lures inside. This is my fishing gear, insuring that I can keep myself and the dogs fed if my food runs out prematurely; if I stuff my face too much and don’t stick to my rationing schedule. I should lose nearly two pounds a week over the course of the summer, close to twenty pounds. Then I’ll really be somebody.

            I bought a down jacket for the cold. Someone gave me a rain coat. I forgot who. Most my clothes were either given to me or bought at second-hand stores. My wool socks ae ten years old. I bought a ball cap for a dollar, and sunglasses too. I even have fuel for my stove this time for when I’m stuck inside my tent for a couple days waiting out a storm and can’t build a fire to cook. I like being in my tent, when the only sounds I hear are either animals, water, wind, or thunder, nothing else, no god-forsaken grinding of motor cars. They’re making us all crazy, consuming our lives and the world. I have antibiotics for the dogs, but not myself, in case of porcupine encounters. They can cause hideous infections. I guess I can always use theirs if I have to. I have one little cup, a titanium pot, a spoon, a head net for mosquitoes, the little bustards. They’re pollinators and feed an enormous quantity of migratory song birds, so I guess I can endure the buzzing and biting for their sake. Birds need to eat too. I have a small bar of soap, but no shampoo or razor. I want to see if my beard grows in grey yet. Not getting any younger so I guess I need to get moving.

            Most importantly, I don’t care one bit if I bring any of this shit back with me when it’s all over. It’s just stupid shit after all. You want to save the planet, stop buying shit. Buddhism teaches you not to have attachments to anything, not even the wilderness, not even your body. But it also teaches you not to have any aversions to anything, not even getting lost in the wilderness, and not even your body. Material things are meant to be worn out, lost, or just plain left behind, or better yet, never had in the first place. I’m trying to get better at this, you know, to be dust in the wind or something like that. The only things I want to bring back form the wilderness is a sense of relief knowing it is still there.