Where Life Takes You - Part 2

You can read Part 1 here.

The e-mail appeared in my inbox with a half-dozen others - but this one stood out. It had a glow about it. The title read "The Mystery Barn in the Yukon". I knew, instantly, what the e-mail was about.

Nearly four years ago I went on a confluence hunt. On the way back from the extended hike I had stumbled across an old homestead. There was no house, but there was a barn. The Mystery Barn. Every time I drove by the north end of Atlin Lake I thought about it.

I saved the e-mail for last. I wanted to savour it.

When I finally clicked, I read the first few lines:

Hello Michael,

I was viewing your photos of the old homestead posted on your Blog site. My name is Timothy Hume. I am the builder of that place.

Wow.

I continued to read and after a few e-mails back and forth, I got to learn more about Timothy Raven Hume.

Here's his story.

I started riding horses when I was around 8; lived next to a Native reserve and most of my boyhood friends were Indian kids so we rode together, hunted together, and all that kind of stuff. I kind of had a way with animals and me and horses really clicked.

Its a huge long story of course.

But needless to say I started on the path of horses, hunting, and being in tune with nature

I saw so many lies and so much corruption towards nature. I never liked my society and all that: Hated school, politics, the laws and deceit.

I left home when I was 14 went to work on dairy farms and cattle ranches in Alberta.

I got interested in art and at age 17, stole my elder brother's ID and high-school papers, and faked my way into art school. I actually graduated with honours.

I bought my first stallion when I was 19 and started breeding horses. I met a hunting guide from the Yukon who was down south buying horses for outfitters up north. He bought some of my stock and told many wonderful stories of freedom, hunting and adventure. How could one who already loved those things not be drawn north?

North is Canada. North is freedom. North is a place to be strong and independent.

Does this ring a bell for you?

So the story goes. I made some cash logging, bought some trucks, hired a couple of drivers because I didn't drive and still don't. I packed up all the horses and other stock, ploughs, mowers, rakes, harnesses, and every thing I believed I would need to survive. I lived in a tepee and scouted far and wide for a suitable place.

That was the best, I felt, was there.

I have attached a photo of me with my hunting pony which was taken on the site you explored. I'm 24 in the picture and I'm now 62.


There is a creek, Michael, just a few yards south of the garden gate. You saw the berries. You saw the fantastic meadows. You saw the beauty of Minto (Mountain) and that fantastic lake so full of fish.

There was a two story cabin there once, Michael. It would have been east of the garden spot where the sweat lodge frame is. I heard that some hunters were in there and set the place afire.

Too bad. It was a great little place. It had a cellar beneath and a stove furnace that would take 5 foot logs. I don't know if there are any photos of it.

Everything was done by hand or with horse power only.

I lived at that place for almost ten years. I had seventeen head of horses, some beef cattle, and a Jersy milk cow; raised ducks, geese, chickens, and pigeons; and had a team of 14 sled dogs. I wrangled horses for hunt camps, was a carver and artist, and did commercial fishing in Atlin Lake.

My heart is still there. My daughter Anna Nahanie was born there - and her first meal of solid food was canned bear meat.

I hunted. Fished. Farmed. I was I believed free.

The reason for leaving I guess are human ones. My wife felt isolated and feared that our kids would grow up crazy without civilization. So LOVE and Compromise.

That's how it all works.

The wife eventually returned to the city life she needed and I'm too old to return the life I left. But hey, all-in-all it was worth it. My kids turned out great, love nature, and fight to protect it.

I now live on Saltspring Island, BC where I still raise horses and Tibetan Yak. And yes, I still have a patch of rhubarb. I've still got a few ponies to play with but there ain't no place to ride down here no more.

I am so glad you found some mystery - something perhaps spiritual - in what I did in the Yukon. It was a life changing experience. I will never be a normal person after that wilderness experience.

I hope you understand that.

I am radical, passionate, and believe in the earth. Well, whatever. Everyone is going their own way, however most of those ways are wrong. The Yukon wilderness taught me that in very short order.

I have always wanted to return. Animal husbandry, as wonderful as it is, can be a problem. No one seems to know how to care for or be responsible for animals anymore today. It's very hard to find people today that can actually do the job while you are away.

Perhaps one day I will be able. Would love to go for a hike with you. Could take you to your confluence point in pretty short order. I think from what I have seem on the maps you suggested I have ridden over that point many times. From the barn up the cut line and at the confluence point, turn north. It takes you to the top of Red Butte. Fantastic country. Moose, caribou, ptarmigan, grouse, puffball mushrooms: You could live up there for months on end.

I used to make two trips a day up there in hunting season. One in to make the kill and out again before dark.

Yes, you are right about the big boulders and the ups and downs and bogs. Couple of good Yukon ponies can do you forty miles a day.

I knew there was something unusual - and special - about that place and it haunted me.  Now, I'm glad I've had a chance to know a little more about a man whose path I crossed and who, one lucky day, crossed mine.  I hope that, one day, we'll be able to meet and walk along the same path together to the old homstead.

For now, I'll reflect on Timothy Hume's experience and think about what was important to him when he wrote this poem - when was making his own trails in the Yukon.

My God

My Wife

My Horse

My rifle and my hunting dog

I laugh Ha Ha

And say what more do I need

Where Life Takes You - Part 1

It's a funny thing, life. We strike out on a certain path but we never really know where we're going to end up. We never truly know what the consequences of making that left turn in Albuquerque are going to be five or ten years down the road. We go through life, sometimes walking, sometimes running, and sometimes resting, trying to make the best decisions we can about when to go straight and when to turn, and who to walk with. As we proceed to our final destination, as all of us do, we collect experiences and memories and observe the wonders of the world along the way.

As we go, we leave our mark on the trail. If we live our life poorly, we leave the trail in poor shape for those who follow. Sometimes we do this consciously and sometimes we do it unconsciously. Sometimes the things we leave behind are left with the best of intentions - only to trip those who are crossing our track. If we've traveled well, however, we leave things - useful things - behind for other travelers to make their journeys easier. Sometimes the things we leave behind are trail markers, maps, or guides. Sometimes its equipment or food or a soft place to rest. Sometimes it's a story or a riddle to contemplate along the way.

In August of 2008, I crossed another man's trail. He left some things behind that caused me to pause and reflect - and to pause and reflect every time I passed near that trail ever since.

Then, one day, he crossed my trail. Not only did he cross my trail, but he followed the sign I left behind and met me a little further along.

But I'm speaking in riddles. All will be explained in time.

Armchair Exploring.

The earth is an amazingly diverse place. And it's big.

When I was an elementary school kid in Saskatchewan, I was told in a geography class that northern Saskatchewan has so many lakes you could never visit them all in one lifetime, no matter how hard you tried.

And that's just lakes in northern Saskatchewan. What about the rest of it?

What about all the mountains and canyons? Cliffs and caves? Rivers and bays and oceans and islands and hotsprings? Glaciers? Rain forests and deserts and tundra and marshlands and everything in between? Salt flats? Beaches? Unique geological features like hoodoos andgeysers and smoking hills and tufa mounds and poljes and pingoes... I could go on and on.

There's so much to see!

From my earliest days, my parents - and my dad especially - instilled in me a passion for exploring. That passion nearly drives me crazy when I pass through an area that looks interesting - especially if that area is hard to get to. And there are so many places to see, it's amazing I haven't gone totally insane. Fortunately, I can get an idea of what different parts of the world looks like, thanks to the Degree Confluence Project.

I heard about the Degree Confluence Project a few years ago. I can't remember how I heard about it, but I thought it sounded interesting and filed it away in my head for further investigation.  When I got a GPS, I decided to join in the fun.

The Degree Confluence Project was started in 1996 by a guy named Alex Jarrett. Driven entirely by volunteers, the goal of the project is to find and document every point where latitude and longitude intersect at whole numbers on or within sight of land. It is, essentially, "an organized sampling of the world".  In other words, a way to get a general idea of what different parts of the world looks like.

When, owing to work and family commitments, I am not able to get out and explore for real, at least I can do some vicarious globe-trotting. Click on the image below to do a little globetrotting of your own, then click on the pictures on a part of the globe that you'd like to explore.

There's still so much to see!

As you can see by the map, there are still a lot of confluences to be found. I was the "first finder" for two of those little spots.

I visited my first confluence in July 2006. 60^oN 132^oW itself wasn't anything extraordinary, but the idea that I had been the first to reach and document the confluence was a blast!  I came within two kilometers of 60^oN 134^oW last summer (now that I know the best way to get there, I'll go back to complete the visit - eventually), and found 60^oN 123^oW this summer.

I may not be able to see the whole world in my lifetime, but I'm determined to see a lot of it.  I figure I might as well take a few pictures so other people can see what it looks like, too.

Confluence Hunt: N60 W123

If I had known about the Degree Confluence Project and if I had owned a GPS when I lived in Fort Liard, NWT, I would have visited N 60^o W 123^o sooner. I was in the area for the Petitot Gathering - a summer gathering for the local First Nations people, industry, government, and anyone else with an interest in the area.

While I was there, I took a morning to visit the confluence. With my canine companion, Nanuq, we followed the 4-wheeler trail from the Petitot Gathering site (near the Petitot River Bridge on the Liard Highway), downstream along the Petitot River, as far as Maxhamish Creek.

Looking upstream at the Petitot River from Maxhamish Creek.

Maxhamish Creek, where it flows into the Petitot River.

One of many cliff faces along the Petitot River.

We waded across the creek and continued along the south bank of the Petitot, where we saw some wolverine tracks in the sand. When we approached a drunken forest and steep bluffs, I attempted to wade across the Petitot. Near the base of the drunken forest, a small, naturally-occurring oil seep ran into the river (The main industry in the area is natural gas exploration and production).

Seep.

The river level was low, but not yet low enough to cross to the opposite, walkable bank. Instead, I cut upwards through the drunken forest to the plateau above the river.

Walking uphill, above the drunken forest.

From the top of the bank, we walked through birch and poplar forest along the bluffs above the river.

Bushwhacking through the poplar and wild rose.

A bend in the river and a large slump leading to a moose pond forced us to make a large arc to the confluence site.

Looking down at the moose pond and the Petitot River valley.

Aside from some small patches of muskeg, two wasp stings at a small creek crossing, and general bushwhacking through wild rose underbrush and willow and poplar deadfall, the walking was fairly level and easygoing. There were mosquitoes, but they weren't biting.

Easy walking.

The confluence was on a north-facing slope, where the vegetation was thicker. Fortunately, with the help of my trusty compass, I had little trouble finding the exact coordinates. I left my GPS on the ground for several minutes to ensure that the displayed coordinates didn't shift.  Unfortunately, I didn't take the same amount of time to take my pictures - a couple of them came out blurry.

If you look closely, you'll see that I'm right on the mark.

Looking at the confluence.

Looking north from the confluence.

Looking east from the confluence.

Looking south from the confluence.

Looking west from the confluence.

N 60^o W 123^o

We generally followed the same route on the way back out, but chose to cut across to Maxhamish Creek rather than follow the Petitot River again. This made the trip shorter in distance, but took longer because a large black bear was hanging out along the banks of Maxhamish Creek. A detour was required, but we made it back to the Petitot Gathering site safe-and-sound.