Traversing Yukon Landscapes - Yukon Arts Centre Summer Art Show

Camping at Burnt Point on the Yukon River, near Selwyn. 2012.

River camping has been an important part of our family's life. For years we made annual canoe and boat trips on the Yukon River or its tributaries. The highlight of everyday was finding a campsite and making it over into our home for the day. I have always been fascinated by the character of our interactions with place and the dynamics of how we, and many other river travelers, find home every night. As part of my research into this process in the summer of 2011 I invited Nicole Bauberger, a highly regarded Yukon artist of place and journeys, to paint the Yukon River between Lake Laberge and the town of Carmacks, some 300 kilometres down river.

This spring it was my turn to be invited to participate in the Yukon Art Centre's summer art show, Traversing Yukon Landscapes in collaboration with Nicole. I had co-operated with artists in  shows before but this time I was being extended an invitation to be an artist. For some time I struggled to understand how I could transform my historical questions and forms of communication into those of the fine arts. Nicole encouraged me to find my own way. Drawing from her fascination with the tarps I'd set up for our river trip I considered how I could incorporate them into the show. This was easy to do and helped me set up an approach that considered a river journey as a piece of art - the skills, materials and activities that allowed an engagement with place were also the tools for making a "home" every night.

Last fall I attended a community session on the Whitehorse shipyards. A number of seniors showed slides and remembered their youth. Interestingly these memories were not expressed as a series of events, things or places, rather it was the network of relationships with other people that had meaning. And these relationships made up place.

 

In my attempt to incorporate this idea into my art I considered how nature was an active partner in the creation of place or home. I queried our western predilection for structuring nature as a chrono-geographic matrix, in the process transforming the possibility of place into a platform for our human prowess and desires. How different from the memories of the seniors. How might nature see us?

 

And what do we see when we are outdoors. In addition to Nicole the artist, I've traveled the river with my family, land use planners, First Nation Elders, geologists, and studied the river in archives and map collections. But the river valley is not just a geography, rather it is a vibrant network of people, their stories, memories, knowledges and experiences bringing meaning to my own passage. How does one recognize the pulsing life of a place if we only consider the autopsy report of a cadaver?

Nicole's paintings were the centre piece of the installation. Evoking the journey, through both the eleven paintings completed on the trip and the annotations describing events, moods and observations, the exhibit reinforces the sense of a lively connection to place.

By Thursday afternoon the gallery was ready. Last minute trimming and placing of work, artists hustling off for a shower and fancy opening clothes, it was a calm and ordered space. The staff of the YAC Gallery had been enthusiastically helpful and supportive as we worked to "fit" our pieces into the gallery. For me it was a pleasant surprise to have such unbounded help in setting up Mahsi cho YAC.

I was pleased with my "campsite." Every item was real - a historian must work with facts after all. Equipment I decided I could spare for this season's boating, but each item marked with the signs of its presence in and contribution to making place. The campsite is just being set up, the visitors have to figure out how to make it home. The doors open and the visitors begin their exploration of the different traverses made the artists.

Nicole and Joy, among the many people with whom I make home.

Spring Walk Swans, Dams and Canoes

Winter ice disappears first where Marsh Lake empties into the Fifty Mile River. The arrival of migrating swans and ducks on these open waters are the among the first signs of a Yukon spring.

Our group chose this place for our early May hike. We start pas the Marsh Lake Dam. First built in the early 1920s, the dam held back water through the winter. In May the water was released to raise the water level for the river boats heading north and to help breakup and flush the ice out of Lake Laberge. Now the rebuilt dam, on the same site, serves the hydro electric plant at Whitehorse by holding back water during the summer and releasing it through the winter to maintain power production during the peak demands of winter. I am currently researching the environmental consequences of the dam and its changing functions.

 From the high bank of the river we look down on snoozing swans. On our return later in the day they were in the water, feeding, and pondering the possibilities of heading further north.

Other birds have also returned. A pair of nesting eagles took turns on the nest but also had a couple of brief episodes of aerial cavorting together during the shift change.

From the trail we had a splendid view of the east side of Grey Mountain. The early clearing of the river also attracts paddlers who are keen to begin training for the annual Yukon River Quest, the epic 715 km canoe race from Whitehorse to Dawson in late June.

Our turn around point was a lovely sunny riverside campsite. We sat on the dried and warm ground, a change from the winter for sure, and day dreamed an evening hike and a supper at this idyllic location.

Aoraki / Mount Cook

Another view of Mount Cook station emphasizing its proximity to Aoraki. One day we visited the station to walk the Alps to Ocean bike trail, two warm days later with a strong up lake wind we found the previously high and dry flat covered with a foot of water from the rising river. Winter here must be traumatic.

The road to Aoraki runs up the west side of the lake. Mt Cook has been a tourist destination since the 1880s, originally for the mountain climbing. It quickly became a mountain retreat with the construction of the original Hermitage in 1884 and regular rebuilds expanding the "Swiss-style alpine village" of Mount Cook.

The Village of Mount Cook

A wonderful source for a highly visual history of New Zealand tourism is Selling the Dream: The Art of Early New Zealand Tourism. The Hermitage features discretely in almost all of the promotional posters for the resort. These, dating from the early 1930s, were produced by the New Zealand Department of Travel Services which operated the Hermitage for much of the twentieth century.

Leaving the coastal plain of farms and sheep stations and rising into the high country of Aoraki is an entry into a dramatic and and challenging environment. At the same time looking out over the active ice fields and the human induced changes here - land clearing, dam building, forestry plantations and introduced deer and other animals - gives some insights of the processes of the human desire to remake new places into new homelands.

Braemar Station - Ranching in New Zealand

After two weeks in Christchurch we headed south to the Mackenzie high country for a week at Braemar Station. The sloping Canterbury Plains gradually get drier and barren as we gain altitude. Before us we see the outliers of the Southern Alps and soon we will drop over the edge of the ridge down to Lake Pūkaki.

While pretty along the road verge the introduced lupins are a threat to several bird species nesting in the unique braided gravel river bed ecology of the South Island.

Braemar Station overlooking Lake Pūkaki is an oasis of trees, gardens and hospitality. Julia and Hamish Mackenzie manage a huge block of land on which they run sheep and deer, offer a unique New Zealand golf experience and welcome visitors. We settle into modernized Pine Cottage, one of the original dwellings on the station relocated to a ridge top granting a stunning view of the lake and mountains. On our arrival we enjoyed a calm, sunny evening. We later came to realize this was a meteorological anomaly.

Erin and Hector hit the road. Aoraki/Mount Cook, New Zealand's tallest mountain and a sacred site for the Ngāi Tahu (Maouri) iwi, rises above the Tasman valley at the head of the lake. Aoraki and his three brothers, sons of Sky Father, took their waka (canoe) down from heaven to visit their step-mother. On attempting to return to heaven however, the waka tipped on its side and was turned into the South Island. The brothers were turned to stone, Aoraki becoming the highest mountain, the brothers making up the rest of the Southern Alps.

Stephen fished both ends of the lake with equal success. Although he saw fish there were more interesting things about and we remained on a fish-free diet. None of this however impaired his pleasure in standing beside the water and enjoying the day. In contrast my attempts to hike in the braided stream environment nearby resulted in a knee deep immersion in a quakey sandbar so it was nearly humans 0, fish 1.

The end of the road takes you to Mount Cook Station at the confluence of the Jollie and Tasman rivers. The station, originally established in 1864, remains in the hands of the founding family, epitomizes the dramatic diversity of New Zealand stations. In addition to deer and sheep the station has a large pine tree plantation.

Sheep at eventide in the Shearer's Paddock, Braemar Station. Especially placid in the evening, during the day sheep and lambs scamper off over the horizon as soon as they see you coming. And that's why the musterers have well trained dogs helping them manage the herd.

During our tramp up the rain swollen Jollie River we witnessed logging operations and got to meet Sam and Chad, and friendly dog (who doesn't run a chain saw), during their lunch break. We sat and traded stories of hunting tahr here and moose back home. Chad's looking forward to a Yukon visit in October to go hunting.

Glaciated mountains and lakes create their own weather. We had several stunning storms during our stay. The wind rose, clouds thickened overhead and staggering bolts of lightning split the sky, blinding us. Seconds later we'd hear the thunder rolling up the valley. Like an operatic production of Ghost Riders, the cascading rumbles passing overhead shook our small cabin and only gradually dissipated their energy into the glacial valleys surrounding Aoraki. The Sky Father sending messages to his earth bound sons?

In the morning the skies were clear and bright and a double complete rainbow bridged the lake. A cleansing wind still swept around our cottage. Struggling against the steady gale - I had to lean into the wind and then let my leg swing forward - I made my way up the hill in Shearer's paddock. On top, with its splendid view of Aoraki, I found I could, rather I had to, lean on the wind simply to stay in place. It was an extraordinary experience. Later in the week the park interpretor at Aoraki told us the Met. station wind recorder that day measured winds up to 172 km/hr before it broke.

Andrew admires the rainbow from our front porch. Braemar Station gave our family a fascinating and engaging experience of high country station life. The atmosphere is relaxed and casual, the hosts friendly and helpful, we enjoyed the immersion in the rural life of New Zealand.

Rapaki Track - A Sunday Morning Walk

Erin and Stephen invited us to meet them for a tramp today. They were starting up the Port Hills from their place and suggested we head up the Rapaki track and meet them on the Summit Road where we could look down into Lyttleton Harbour. We "slipped on a shirt, slopped on the sunscreen and slapped on a hat" and headed out.

Joy gave her hat to Andrew.

Leaving behind the suburbs we climbed up the Port Hills, actually the sides of a long collapsed volcano, the core of which is the now the harbour. Lyttleton harbour is the largest harbour on the South Island and the community hosts a popular farmers' market every Saturday.

Looking at the Port Hills from the inside of the caldera while waiting for a latte.

The hills are mostly pasture for sheep on one side of the track and beef up the hill. One large willow provided some welcome shade about half way up. There was a strong warm wind blowing downslope. At one point we thought we heard a horde of cicada but it was the wind humming the high tension wires of a nearby transmission line. We know what we wanted to hear and were sympathetic to people who live near these arteries of modern civilization.

At the top we met Erin, Stephen and Hector and rested briefly with the runners and cyclists who were out in considerable numbers. Looking over into the harbour Erin pointed out a couple of places including an island in the channel where Shackleton kept his dogs in 1914 before embarking on his Trans-Antarctic expedition. Shackleton's leadership on this disasterous four year expedition ensured that not a single man was lost, a model for contemporary leadership training. They also got to miss the bulk of the First World War which they hurried back to once they found out it wasn't yet over.

Going down was pleasant but Hector had had enough travelling by then. We took breaks whenever shade offered and giggled together as we witnessed all the small wonders of the world. Our last stop was under a Manuka bush, the source of a healthy New Zealand honey and a tough hard wood that Stephen used in making the batons for his kubb game.

Christmas in Kiwi , or maybe Hobbit, Land

 Andrew, Joy and I, not the Magi, but also drawn by a (southern) star made a long journey to enjoy our family Christmas this year. Starting from just below the Arctic Circle we left a -30C Whitehorse early in the morning and, over the next 72 hours, crossed the Tropic of Cancer, the Equator, the International Date Line and the Tropic of Capricorn, thus pretty much covering off the whole of grade 8 geography. Air New Zealand, festooned with Hobbit land paraphenalia, claimed we'd arrived in Middle Earth where we stopped for snack before the final leg to Christchurch.

The whole point of the trip was to become acquainted with our first grandchild, Hector Mason. We found him with his Dad relaxing under a shady tree in the back garden. Erin and Stephen's world has contracted around a new centre and we were pleased to join them for a grand Christmas day.

We opened presents. Not surprisingly most were for Hector, though all of us got a treat or two. The sheer joy of having a multi-generation Christmas did not overshadow my own nostalgic reflections of Christmases where I've been the child, the adolescent, the adult and the parent. Now I'd crossed another line on a different kind of, and much longer, journey through life. What a delightful experience this has been. Life, especially new life, is wonderful stuff.

A New Zealand Christmas is usually at the beach. This year though our arrival in the middle of Christmas morning, and the coolness of the day - only +20C, meant we'd settle for a picnic in the backyard.

After our Christmas meal, it was time to play with Hector, again, and we all took turns practising jumps, flying and talking. His grins, and yawns, were infectious and we enjoyed a very mellow afternoon.

Then it was Hector's turn for a snack and a nap. And "after dinner the Uncles lay out in the sunshine, loosened all buttons, put their large moist hands over their watch chains, groaned a little and slept."

Zombie and Andrew do the Uncle thing.

Later, in the evening, all refreshed from naps and walks, we settled in for the traditional Kiwi pavlova. A great start to a family visit in New Zealand.