I hadn’t celebrated the summer solstice at all in the past few years, but as my good pal Scott is in town—an excuse for activity beyond the calender’s reading June 21—we decided about 8:00 p.m. yesterday that we ought to grab the dog, do a little off-roading on the first bumpy trail we could find, and take her for a short walk somewhere along the way. That might not sound like a celebration to you and you’re probably right, but since we didn’t get home until 3:30 a.m., did some difficult off-roading, caught three fish, and explored some places neither of us had ever been, I’m calling it a celebration.

For those of you unfamiliar with a northern summer solstice, some explanation is in order. In Whitehorse, we live in relative darkness for half the year. On the shortest day of the year, Dec. 21, there are but a few hours of daylight. Go further north and the sun doesn’t even come up. It’s depressing and draining to live with little or no sunshine, but we get our due come summer. Then we experience enough sunshine to make the darkness of the past winter seem a distant memory. There are even a few weeks centred around the summer solstice when, although the sun officially sets, there is always at least a trickle of daylight. Go further north and… you get the picture.

Therefore, we northerners live a double life: private, anti-social, contemplative, reserved, slow-paced, and sometimes depressed in winter; social, active, busy, productive, spontaneous, and sometimes manic in summer. Hence the almost complete lack of anything having to do with news, politics, or philosophy on this blog so far this summer. I am far too consumed by activity to worry about any of that. Tony was kind enough to warn his readers at the beginning of the summer that his content was about to change, something I neglected to do. My school marks have also taken a major hit. But I have the entire winter to think about stuff like that. In a northern summer it’s not about what you think, it’s about what you do. And you can do a lot when there’s perpetual daylight.

If you’ve never experienced one of our long summer evenings, you are likely curious as to just how bright they are. Well, it really depends on location, since for instance, mountains may block the narrow slit of evening sunshine. As well, our sunny evenings are tough to capture in photograph, or in any case, I find them difficult, since metering when the sun is both bright and low on the horizon can be problematic. The following photo of me and my faithful companion, Taffy, was taken by Scott, and shows lighting very close to the actual conditions at 11:oo p.m.

 

It’s name is Coal Lake, and that is the Coal Lake Road you can see winding into the distance. Most of this road, a moderate 4x4, cuts between Mt. Sima and Goldenhorn, and continues to Coal Ridge. The main road continues further, but we turned and followed a cat/ATV trail down to the Lake. This trail is much more difficult to follow. There are few winch points and a long deep bog has to be transversed. Getting stuck in it would spell disaster, since it would surely take several hours, maybe more, to get back on track. My advice, if you’re going to attempt to cross the bog in a truck: hit it with some serious speed and don’t slow down. We were able to get across without a hitch, but on the way home we came very close to getting stuck. There are also some fairly steep pitches that necessitate careful driving. Attempt this one at your own risk.

Consider the character of this destination when you weigh the risk, however, as it is one of the most isolated and peaceful lakes anywhere near Whitehorse. The fishing is outstanding. I caught two small but handsome lake trout, and Scott caught one that was more than 22 inches long—a beautiful fish. The views are also outstanding. An added bonus for those who like off-roading is that the drive to Coal Lake is enjoyable in its own right. We, for our part, are considering another trip to Coal Lake, this time with an overnight stay, before Scott leaves town.

Yet what I find most noteworthy about our entire trip, begun after 8:00 p.m., into a location more remote than most people ever experience in their lifetime, with more than 50 km of off-roading, hours of site-seeing and exploring to make my dog happy, and hours of successful fishing to make us happy—it all took place before dark.

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