The two‑week Yukon expedition organized by Rat Race combined hiking, gravel‑bike riding and canoeing, exposing participants to bears, northern lights and remnants of the gold‑rush era while highlighting the lasting influence of Indigenous stewardship. Guide Amber Berard‑Althouse, a Tlingit member of the Agunda (Wolf) clan, also runs The Land Heals, a tourism venture that shares First Nations perspectives with visitors.
Starting in Whitehorse
Guided by Amber Berard‑Althouse of the Kluane First Nation, the group left Whitehorse after sampling yarrow tea and learning about fireweed’s anti‑inflammatory sap. Berard‑Althouse emphasized that the region’s character results from centuries of Indigenous care, not from an imagined untouched wilderness. She has spent more than a decade delivering interpretive talks at Kluane National Park, emphasizing how residential schools disrupted centuries‑old stewardship practices.
From Whitehorse the team traveled by van to Carcross, a junction where Alaska, British Columbia and the Yukon meet. The town’s name derives from a historic caribou crossing, and it serves as a gateway to the Yukon River’s headwaters at Lake Lindeman. The Yukon River, the third‑longest in North America at 3,190 km, begins as meltwater from Llewellyn Glacier and Lake Lindeman, its surface shifting from ice‑blue to milky tones as sediment loads change.
Rail, bike and the road to Bennett
Riders boarded the historic White Pass and Yukon Route narrow‑gauge train, which chugged through mountain scenery to the former boomtown of Bennett. The White Pass and Yukon Route is a historic narrow‑gauge line whose steam plumes linger in the alpine air. The settlement, once home to Friedrich Trump’s Arctic Hotel, now sits silent beside the glacial basin that feeds the river. Bennett’s Arctic Hotel was operated by Friedrich Trump and his partner Ernest Levin, serving stampeders during the Klondike boom.
Read Also: Jamaica journey through family eyes
After disembarking, the party cycled 10 km uphill to the Spirit Lake Motel, where they ate chow mein and local beer. A later night‑time escapade involved slipping a pine chip under a window latch to re‑enter a locked room, a moment the writer describes as “a newfound appreciation of breaking and entering.” Earlier, a mis‑judged electric kettle had nearly ignited the cabin, a fire extinguisher averting disaster.
Two days of gravel‑bike riding covered 253 km from Carcross to Carmacks along the South Klondike and Alaska highways. Early mornings brought near‑freezing air and blue mist, but the sun soon lifted temperatures, revealing broad river valleys dotted with spruce.
Downriver paddling
At Carmacks the team loaded four canoes with 60‑liter barrels and provisions for a week on the water. Practice strokes on the bank before pushing off, then the Yukon River’s current took over, moving at roughly ten kilometres per hour. When the White River joins, it contributes glacial silt and volcanic ash from Alaskan eruptions, turning the water a milk‑green swirl that thickens around the paddle blade.
The first major challenge arrived at Five Finger Rapids, where basalt pillars squeeze the flow into turbulent channels. The group chose the rightmost passage, rode standing waves and emerged dry, leaving the most hazardous segment behind. The sternwheeler sank in 1936, and the site is traditionally linked to the imagined resting place of Sam McGee’s ashes. Robert Service’s poem immortalizes that legend, drawing visitors to recite verses beside the fire.
Read Also: Bangkok’s Rise as Global Fine-Dining Maverick
Further downstream, the historic site of the sternwheeler SS Casca and the supposed resting place of Sam McGee’s ashes marked the confluence with the White River, its glacial silt turning the water a milky green.
Daily paddling sessions lasted about nine hours, covering an average of 80 km. Camps were set on gravel bars, where bear barrels stored food, and evenings featured campfires, shared jokes and occasional sightings of bald eagles and waterfowl.
Encounters and reflections
At Fort Selkirk, a former Hudson’s Bay Company trading post, the group noted the 1848 building’s destruction by Tlingit traders—a rare successful resistance. Freshly painted red, blue and yellow fences encircle each grave, a visible sign of ongoing care by Selkirk First Nation members. The site now hosts a First Nations graveyard, its painted fences bright against the forest.
One night, photographer James Appleton alerted the writer to a sudden aurora display. A low arc grew into a sweeping green wave across the sky, reflected on the river’s surface, an image the author says will linger in memory. Appleton once captured the aurora alongside an Icelandic volcanic eruption in 2010, a rare photographic feat.
Read Also: Sky High Wilderness Ranch earns glowing review
During the fifth day on the river, the leader shouted “bear” multiple times, recalling Berard‑Althouse’s warning. A black bear appeared on a nearby island, swam across the water and vanished into the spruce, an encounter that felt almost mythic. Black bears often frequent highway verges, drawn by roadside vegetation and occasional food scraps.
Reaching Dawson City, the expedition arrived ahead of schedule as rain began. The town emerged from the floodplain as a cluster of wooden buildings, docks and historic steamboats, a reminder of the river’s long commercial past. Dawson’s wooden piers once accommodated busy steamboat traffic that linked interior mining camps to coastal markets.
For travelers, the journey illustrates how the Yukon’s environments are intertwined with human stories—from Indigenous plant knowledge to gold‑rush remnants and modern adventure tourism. The river’s flow continues to shape both environment and culture, a living sign of the area’s layered history.