Mush Rush: chef Jeff Mickelson, Chewy and I forage for shammys
"For the people who weren’t born here, you’re either running to something or running away from something. If you are not in one of those camps, you’re not a real Yukoner."
5:40 a.m.: The sun is up. It was still light out when I went to bed at 12:30 a.m. and feels like I haven’t slept at all. I hit the road twenty minutes later. The bus no longer has an airport stop (as I found out yesterday before I bummed it to town,) and though Grizzly Bear Taxi does a run, I decide to walk it. According to Nancy, staff at the hostel, it’s a nice route. I make a shortcut through the cemetery, climb few stairs up the escarpment, and hug the highway shoulder the rest of the way. It’ll take me an hour tops.
She obviously hasn’t done it. The cemetery was a little squishy from sprinklers, but that was the nice part. Climbing the escarpment on the other hand was like doing the Grouse Grind with a fully-loaded 60L backpack and computer bag awkwardly sliding from my shoulder. Wheezing on the first of many, many tiers of stairs I’m thinking: stupid idea. What on earth made me trust a non-athletic local on geography and think scaling an escarpment was going to be simple.
I made it though. And the view was incredible.