More ‘summit Mount Everest than come to these parks’
INUVIK, N.W.T.— They would be two of the most dramatic and awe-inspiring flights ever.
For veteran Arctic pilot Ralph Tweten and his trusty co-pilot Jesse Clayton, it would mean flying to places they’d never been to, let alone landed on.
Our mission was to see all four of the northernmost national parks in the Western Arctic, as part of my 2017 odyssey to see as many national parks as possible.
Tuktut Nogait, Aulavik, Vuntut, Ivvavik — names I’d certainly never heard of.
They are remote. No roads, only one or two campsites. As Rachel Hansen of Parks Canada put it, “more people summit Mount Everest than come to these parks.”
For example, last year Tuktut Nogait had two visitors, three the year before.
One of the big obstacles at this time of year is the weather. As summer meets winter, thick fog and misty rain are common. I found that out fast. I was to fly the day I arrived, but that plan got summarily cancelled.
The next morning, the fog was still thick but you could take off. The weather was supposedly “OK” at our first park but the winds were far too strong to continue on to the second, Aulavik, by crossing the ocean to Banks Island. Shall we go to the first anyway, the pilots asked? “Absolutely,” I replied.
So we took off and the first hour we flew due east in fog but near the end of the 300-kilometre flight path, we emerged into full visibility and the beauty of Tuktut Nogait. It means “young caribou” and is home to the calving grounds of the Bluenose West caribou herd.
The highlight of the park is unquestionably the rushing torrent of the Hornaday River, the main drainage system between Great Bear Lake to the south and the Arctic Ocean to the north.
The tundra in this region has a permafrost layer relatively close to the surface. This means there is little groundwater absorption and so rainwater travels quickly to the river.
What results is a roaring, rapids-filled waterway that has carved its way through endless sheer canyons of dramatic proportion.
As we swerved and banked sharply to follow the Hornaday’s twisting route, suddenly a sheer wind force catapulted the plane upwards, right above La Roncière Falls. It was a moment!
Our park tour complete, we headed for our first refuelling stop at Paulatuk, an Inuit hamlet right on the ocean shore. The airport manager told me she had never visited the nearby park but was very proud to talk of her first year of vegetable gardening.
“The lettuce was great,” she chuckled. “So was the herb garden, but I only got one small tomato.”
The great news from the pilots, however, was that the winds had “slowed” enough so we could make the trip across the ocean to Banks Island and Aulavik National Park. It means “place where people travel” in Inuvialuktun.
We took off and the pilots deliberately flew very low, almost skimming the surface of Amundsen Gulf, to make better time into the ferocious headwind. The advantage was I got a spectacular view of a huge bowhead whale breaching the surface.
After another refuelling at Sachs Harbour, where the barge with supplies was making its annual visit, we headed out over the tundra to Aulavik.
I found there was a stark beauty in this treeless, almost desolate landscape. The area is famous for its muskox and we sighted nine herds.
The highlight was actually landing on the tundra, a
Vuntut, which means “among the lakes,” is described as one of the least visited parks. This is a shame for its rolling hills and mountainous terrain were simply stunning
first for the pilots at this spot.
The site called Green Cabin was exactly that. Around the cabin were muskox bones, caribou antlers and some dazzling rocks. The latitude was 73.5 degrees north. The plane landing, by the way, was brilliant and the pilots couldn’t stop taking pictures.
The cabin is right beside the Thomsen River, one of the most northerly navigable rivers in North America.
We refuelled again at Sachs Harbour, where I almost got blown over by the wind. “Eskimo weather,” chortled the Inuit gas attendant.
Altogether it turned out to be an 11hour trip — never to be forgotten. But would we be able to make the trip the following morning to Vuntut and Ivvavik, the two side-by-side Yukon parks?
When I awoke, the fog was thick. Upon arrival at the airport, visibility was the very least allowed for a takeoff. The pilots said the weather at the parks was “great,” but was I prepared to take the chance we would not be able to return to Inuvik and be forced to land elsewhere? “Let’s go,” I said. And we had tons of fuel.
A half an hour out of Inuvik, we emerged into brilliant sunshine. Indeed there was hardly a cloud, and a snowfall the day before covered the mountains in both parks in a shimmering coat of blinding white.
The two parks are located in the northernmost wedge of Yukon Territory, bounded on the west by the Alaska border.
The southern of the two is Vuntut, which means “among the lakes.” It is the principal home of the Porcupine caribou and was established as a national park through a land claims settlement with the Vuntut Gwich’in.
It is described as one of the least visited parks, which is a shame for its rolling hills and nearby mountainous terrain were stunning, if daunting.
To the north, Ivvavik National Park provides even more defined and dramatic mountains combined with endless tundra and the path to the Beaufort Sea. Ivvavik — meaning “place of giving birth and raising young,” related to the Porcupine caribou — used to be called Northern Yukon National Park.
Today it has the distinction of being Canada’s first park established through a land claims settlement. It is also home to the raging Firth River, a torrent of turquoise that funnels its way through soaring gorges and canyons. It provides one of the best-known rafting routes in the High Arctic.
We also managed to land in the park at what is ironically called Sheep Creek International Airport, an old and very short gravel landing strip. We trekked outside and had been forewarned a mother grizzly and two cubs were in the area. We saw nothing.
As we left the park, cruising over Herschel Island, a lone grizzly was clearly seen stalking a group of caribou.
And off in the distance lay the Mackenzie River delta, where this mighty waterway explodes into an umbrella-shaped vortex of multiple channels and tributaries to the ocean.
As we head back to Inuvik, the sky is clear and we land without a hitch.
And I luxuriate in the thought these are two days I will never forget. John Honderich, chair of the board of Torstar, is attempting to visit all 46 of Canada’s national parks and reserves during the country’s 150th birthday year.