Illustration by Ellie Shim
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“I am not a camper.” These were my parting words to friends as I left for the airport. Admittedly, I wish I had thought more about that fact before I asked a friend if I could join him and his two dogs on the northern portion of his cross-Canada adventure. But that was before I would be intimately familiar with what “boondocking” entailed, which, for the uninitiated, is camping while being completely self-sufficient and self-contained. It sounded adventurous and independent at the time.
At 62, near retirement and as a recent widow, I’m trying to figure out how to live life fully while solo. I didn’t want to curl up and pass on these years, and if it meant being uncomfortable sometimes, then I need to suck it up.
My friend has a fully outfitted truck/camper, has weapons training (he’s ex-military) and possesses significant skills in solar power and carpentry. He meets me in Whitehorse, where we begin our journey. At Dawson City, we head to the Top of the World highway, which can take us to Alaska, but our elbows are firmly up so instead, thanks to boondocking app iOverlander, a kilometre before the border, we turn left onto a road that barely exists.
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We spend the night parked on a hill with a 360-degree view. The foliage is just beginning to turn, and the sunset is brilliantly beautiful. As I crawl into the back of the cab for the night, I hope that my bladder holds. No such luck. As I use my toes to pull the door handle so I can push the door open, I begin to squirm off the elevated platform of the back seat. I imagine this is how a butterfly leaves its cocoon. I look up and am greeted with vibrant greens and purples of the Northern Lights. In that moment, I appreciate my aging bladder. The next morning, we pack up and head to the Dempster Highway.
The Dempster, Canada’s only road that crosses the Arctic Circle, has always had an aura around it from my time in the RCMP. The Lost Patrol, considered the worst RCMP tragedy of the 20th century, where four officers died while on an ill-fated patrol, was part of our (colonizing) history. Despite the allure, the challenges of this neck of the woods are not for the faint of heart.
Our rig is well-prepared for the rutted, bumpy and dusty road. My body, however, was less happy with it. On the long days of jostling and rattling, Advil was my friend. We were under no illusion of the many possibilities for the trip to go sideways (literally). The vehicles we passed abandoned in the ditches would have ensured that.
Yet, the rewards were many. Visually magnificent reds and oranges on the tundra as fall approached, a white ptarmigan, black bears, lynx, moose and a pair of white tundra swans were only part of the eye candy on this trip. Shocking were the swathes of black charred land from this year’s fires and those of years past. Smiles and waves from fellow travellers offered a welcome sense of communal adventure, as was the tow off a soft edge of the road.
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As we got closer to Tuktoyaktuk, a hamlet in the Northwest Territories, my brain started to swirl. I have wanted to swim in each of the five oceans for some time. I knew that my opportunity to swim in the Arctic would not likely happen again. It was now or never. But I expected it to be, well, cold, really cold.
We arrived to find the gravel parking lot of the viewing area busy with at least 100 people milling about. As my friend walked the dogs, I crawled into the camper to change and began my inner monologue: I am going to do this. No, there is no one else doing it. I don’t look great in a bathing suit, but who cares? Get in and get out, that is all I have to do. Just do it!
As I open the door and jump down off the tailgate, I meet Michele, a cheery-faced Ontarian, who asks if I’m going swimming. I gulp and say yes. She excitedly offers to take photos. I hand her my camera and walk determinedly into the dark water. With frigid water at my thighs, I dive in. Swim a few strokes, tread water and walk back out. Not even bothering to look mature and calm, my smile is wide, and my internal voice is screaming: I did it!
Michelle announces that she is going in too. She convinces her partner to join her, and I take photos. As they exit, another woman, Anne, who has been watching us, proclaims, “If you guys can do it, I can too!” Oh my, is it too late to become a trendsetter?
I’m realizing I’m not made for easy roads. My dreams and goals are going to be found on paths that are bumpy and challenging, and they are going to make me grow. Opportunities that come along may not be perfect. Yet, they are also opportunities to be flexible, to be willing to persevere through less than optimal circumstances, and I know I can adjust. I can transform. I can be a trendsetter.
Heck, I can even inspire myself. Now, what do I pack for gorilla trekking in Uganda while sleeping in a tent?
Shelley Goodwin lives in Yarmouth, Nova Scotia.