A Yukon Breakfast

On all fours, I back out of the tent. I stand up and see that a slight mist blankets the river, its steamy presence muffling the normal wilderness sounds around me. The mist has obviously dampened the usual morning exuberance of the two dogs. An enquiring eye is all I get and they remain curled nose to tail underneath a large spruce tree at the edge of our camp. There is a clear, bright and blue sky showing above the mist and it is going to be a beautiful day.

Last nights campfire is quickly rekindled. The cheery, crackling flames give the dogs sufficient incentive to join me around the fire. We sit there, enjoying the warmth until the mist dissipates into a glorious spring day. I set the cast iron frying pan on the rocks around the fire, shove the coffee pot onto some coals and set about the business of stringing my fishing rod. Both dogs know what’s coming; they’ve gone through the ritual a number of times in their young lives.

With a last wispy swirl, the mist is gone and long, exploring streaks of sunlight filter into the river valley. Our camp is located on an island in the river and the clear, fast-flowing water surrounds us on all sides. A few steps and I’m on the rivers edge casting out into a lively eddy, the dogs expectantly following the flight of the lure that plunks in, with hardly a splash exactly at the curl of the eddy. With a silvery leap, a grayling takes the lure and I have a hard time keeping the dogs from following the lure into the water to give me a hand bringing it in. When it comes to food, they’re always ready to lend a hand. Six casts later there are four fish on the bank and we’re ready for breakfast.

This ritual breakfast around the morning fire, eating pan-fried grayling gently crisped in some bacon fat and supplemented with some generously buttered dark bread is a lip-smacking, unforgettable experience repeated several times each year when the need for a dose of wilderness becomes paramount. The place I describe and usually head for is the Thirty-Mile River, that part of the Yukon River that exits at the north end of Lake Laberge for a run to its confluence with the Teslin River 30 miles downstream. It is my favorite retreat for a genuine Yukon experience full of wonderful memories of past trips, old friends, and of course that true campfire breakfast.