PROSPECTING IN THE YUKON

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After only a few minutes of flying time the last gravel road had faded from view. From that point on, only mountains and rivers were left to guide us . . . and the longer we flew, the more unfamiliar the terrain became. Frank and I were heading into the real Yukon.

When the plane reached the unnamed lake that was our first destination, we landed near a good camping spot . . . said farewell to our pilot . . . and then watched as the last "outsider" the two of us would see for two full months flew off. We spent the next few days clearing shoulder-high brush, building a shelter, and setting up our base camp. (We even planted a small garden of peas, onions, radishes, and lettuce, and — thanks to the warmth from the almost continuous Arctic sunlight — our seeds sprouted in just 24 hours! )

Frank and I were isolated at our beautiful waterside campsite, but we certainly weren't alone. Each evening, moose fed in the valley near us (we could practically set our watches by their arrival) . . . beavers grew so accustomed to our presence that they would swim and labor just yards away from our camp . . . while fish, birds, and wild flora helped fill our humanless haven.

On some days we worked at domestic chores such as baking bread or washing clothes, at other times we fished or went berry-picking, and-during rainy weather-we rested in camp and caught up on our program-required diary.

But we spent most of our time collecting, splitting, and studying rocks (we located a lot of pyrite — fool's gold — and traces of both tin and tungsten). We took long backpacking expeditions in order to rock hunt in awesome and rarely explored mountain ranges. And — because we were unable to resist the prospector's dream of finding the mother lode — we panned for gold in every stream we came across.

At the end of July our pilot returned and transferred us 50 miles farther north, to another lake. The silt-filled glacial body had no fish, and there was less game surrounding it than we'd found at our first campsite.

In fact, the entire area was desolate. We did find a cabin there, though . . . an old shack that dated back to the gold rush of 1898. But our biggest surprise came in mid-August when we stumbled on a small patch of wild currants and, exploring farther, found acres of the hardy shrubs! We spent most of our time the next few days picking, eating, and making jam out of the delicious berries. (We even brought some back to the U.S. and brewed 'em into homemade wine!)

Then, on September 1, our pilot picked us up and flew us back to "civilized" Sheldon Lake . . . and our three months' adventure was over. We hadn't found any particularly significant mineral deposits, but we sure had "found" the never-to-be-forgotten experiences of backpacking, camping, prospecting — and just being at peace with ourselves and nature — in the Canadian wilderness.

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