When Dawson City Dreamt of Us

If you are ever travelling through the Yukon, Dawson City is a must. It’s weird and hypnotic. Time stops and begins intermittently, or so it seems. The sidewalks are still made of wood planks, the houses are kept in their original gold rush style, and dog mushers and trappers still frequent the pubs. With its Arctic Circle proxy, the summers are flooded in near eternal sunshine, while winters ebb to darkness.

We took a trip there in the fall, at the same time we visited Tombstone. We visited the cabins of Robert Service and Jack London (actually, half of it only remains while the other half sits somewhere in California). Edward returned later to help with some of the Olympic Torch Relay coverage. While walking his boss' dog, Smokie, along the Yukon River one morning, he was transfixed by the passing slush ice.

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"I could film that stuff all day," his boss later told him. "I wouldn't mind doing a whole show on it, y'know? It's always different."

Later, Edward had this surreal experience, while walking Smokie down a really wide street towards the public school. “I was wearing my huge down parka, thick gloves, and my -75 °C (-103 °F) boots. The fur of my hood shrouded my periphery. The snow crunched beneath my feet. My suit made movement slow, but comfortable. I called out for Smokie to come back, and then it hit me: a vision of being stretched across the page of an old picture book, while it was being read by my elementary school librarian. The essence of northern living seemed manifested in that moment, the ques of which I gathered from school books, museum field trips, and cultural CBC segments. I had stepped into the page. Time had slowed down. And even if I was just playing the part, it felt good to be northern.”