LEGENDS OF THE YUKON
Exploring Indigenous culture in the snows of Christmas Bay
The world is frozen and still outside our cosy lodge on the edge of Kluane National Park in southwest Yukon.
Inside, things are much more animated. James Allen, an elder and former chief of the Champagne and Aishihik First Nations, is at the lodge for an evening of storytelling. Allen's people have lived in the Yukon for thousands of years and tonight he is sharing some of the Southern Tutchone legends he grew up with.
It's a perfect evening for storytelling. While snow falls outside, my husband and I snuggle up on a comfy sofa in front of a roaring fire and listen. Allen tells a fascinating story featuring Raven, who is both a benevolent creator god and a trickster who always gets into trouble. But my favourite legend is the one he tells about the aurora borealis.
“There are many legends about the northern lights,” he says. “Our story is that the northern lights are a message from ancestors who have passed on. They dance in the Spirit World to let us know they are happy there.”
I love the idea that the northern lights have a deeper meaning. I think about my grandparents who have passed on and I can't help smiling as I imagine them joyfully dancing. There's something special about stories that have been passed from person to person for generations. Knowing that so many people have taken the time to keep a legend alive gives it greater impact.
After a good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast at Mount Logan Lodge, we head out to spend the day learning more about local Indigenous culture with Allen, who owns a company called Shakat Tun Adventures. “Shakat Tun” means “summer hunting trails” in the Southern Tutchone language.
Shakat Tun Wilderness Camp is located on a hill overlooking Christmas Bay on Kluane Lake. There's a large yurt and several rustic log cabins that sit on a trap line the Allen family has owned for generations. Some guests stay overnight in the cabins and others come for day tours as we are doing.
Shortly after arriving, we head out on snowmobiles for a tour. My husband and I take turns driving the snowmobile as we follow Allen along the trap line that has been in his family for centuries. It's a beautiful winter day and the new-fallen snow sparkles in the sunlight.
We make several stops at different handcrafted wooden traps along the line and Allen explains how each type of trap works. It is fascinating. We stop at an old trapper's cabin and he talks about his memories going out on the trap line with his grandfather. In a way, it feels like we are stepping back in time and getting to glimpse the way of life that has sustained Indigenous people in this part of Canada for centuries.
After our tour of the trap line, we ride snowmobiles onto Kluane Lake to try ice fishing. Our Indigenous guides bore holes in the ice and help us get the gear set up. I soon discover that I'm really good at fishing. I'm just not very good at catching. While I wait on the ice for an elusive fish to bite my lure, I visit with Allen and our other Indigenous guides. It's possible that all my talking is scaring away the fish, but it's really interesting learning about life in Yukon.
After fishing, we head back to the wilderness camp and enjoy a delicious homemade bison stew prepared by Allen's daughter. The yurt is toasty warm and we visit while we eat lunch and warm up from the day's activities. Before we leave, we take time to relax and enjoy the views from a hilltop overlooking Christmas Bay. Kluane Lake is surrounded by stunning snow-covered mountains that sparkle in the sunshine. I am convinced this particular spot is one of the prettiest on planet earth.
Two days later, my husband and I are outside Whitehorse on a northern lights tour and I am thinking about Southern Tutchone legends as we watch colourful ribbons of green and red light moving and twirling between the stars. Even though it's extremely cold, we are warmed by the beautiful dance of our ancestors.
I love the idea that the northern lights have a deeper meaning. I think about my grandparents who have passed on and I can't help smiling as I imagine them joyfully dancing. Debbie Olsen.