I wanted to see the end of civilization with my own two eyes. It was early August. Smoke from wildfires still raging in the West clung to the air in a heavy, low-lying layer, as it had for most of the summer. It bestowed the landscape with a moody ambience.
It was already evening, but I was in no rush with the tail-end remnants of the midnight sun continuing to leave an impression on the daily solar cycle – the sun doesn’t set until around 10:30pm. Pushing the gas pedal down, I urged Benji, my ol’ 2004 GMC, onwards, towards the end of the road.
About an hour’s drive outside of Yellowknife, on highway 4, also known as the Ingraham Trail, the paved road ends and the hard-packed gravel begins. The boreal trees of jackpine and aspen begin to dissipate and become replaced with low-lying shrubs and open stretches of bedrock. I’m astonished by how quickly the landscape opens up, suddenly I’m able to see far and wide into Canada’s open reaches of unbridled wild. My visibility is only hindered by the hues of smoke and slight curve in the distant topography. The odd lake or two dots the surface as I trundle north.
Another 10 mins of driving from where the gravel first began has me arriving at the end of the road. The gravel road ends at the shores of Tibbitt Lake, where tall stands of jackpine and aspen trees have once again re-appeared. This marks the end of the Northwest Territories’ eastern reaches of the all-season highway system and the start of the Tibbitt to Contwoyto winter ice road.
There’s a laughable ROAD CLOSED sign plunked at the edge of where the gravel meets the lakeshore. I love the north for its sense of humor and down-to-Earth grit. This was one of those moments I felt grateful to be in this novel and unique place.
The 400-600 km Tibbitt to Contwoyto highway is one of the longest heavy-haul ice roads in the world. It services a few diamond mines in the north – the Diavik, Ekati, and Gahcho Kué Diamond Mines. For two months of the year (Feb – Mar.), truckers haul fuel, equipment, and industrial parts to and from the mines essentially nonstop, ensuring the mines are sufficiently resupplied for the remainder of the year.
I found a place to park. I took some time to explore the surrounding area. A man stood attentively with his fishing rod on the edge of rocks skirting the narrow, rushing river that funnels water from Tibbitt Lake into the adjacent lake whilst his kids excitedly prodded at the fish he’d already caught. I discovered patch of untouched wild strawberries which I quickly funneled down my throat. Their tiny size packed a surprising punch of sweetness.
I carefully placed my kayak at the edge of the lake, and shoved my few water-resistant bags containing camping gear down into the hull of the kayak, beneath my feet.
Off I went, gliding on the water’s calm surface. It was a beautiful evening despite the hints of smoke in the air. I took my time, meandering along the western side of the lake, admiring the forest’s edge and exposed, craggy rocks. Clusters of delicate lily pads dotted the surface in places. A few elaborate cottages littered the eastern side of the lake meanwhile this western side was relatively untouched.
I eventually came upon a slab of rock covered in lichen with a few trees interspersed throughout. I figured this would make for a decent camping spot with a nice view out over the lake and no thick vegetation to battle, the only downside – a slight incline throughout.
After setting up my tent, I built a fire within a ring of rocks. There was no longer a fire ban in place for the region, so I was excited to take advantage of this small window of opportunity. I sat around the edge of the fire scarfing down some snacks, watching the sky turn into purplish hues as the sun sank into the horizon.
Soon after I retreated into the safe confines of my tent as hundreds of mosquitos began their hunt for blood. All I could hear was the high-pitch scream of countless mosquito wings as they zeroed in on my tent. Only 20cm separated me from their signature sting. I dreaded having to get up in the middle of the night to go pee. As if in the Olympics, I did my business and re-zipped my tent with pronounced speed, but even that had me spending a good 10 mins searching for and squishing the plethora of mosquitos that had managed to find their way in.
With no rain in the forecast, I decided not to put a fly on my tent. I reaped the reward of this decision the next morning when I awoke to the dazzling orange of the rising sun hovering over the lake. Its rays kissed my face as I lay snuggled in the cozy confines of my sleeping bag.
Eventually resounding hunger had me clambering out of my tent. I re-started the fire and ate some breakfast. After spending part of the morning reading, I decided to go for a swim. With my snorkeling gear fastened in place, I dove into the dark depths. I saw a decently sized pike (Esox lucius) and an abundance of lily pads. The water was pretty cold so I didn’t stay in for too long and didn’t stray too far from shore for a fear of sea monsters.
By late afternoon, I’d packed up my things, put out the fire, and departed from my tranquil perch of rock. The wind had picked up, making the paddle back a more arduous task than the day before.
I took my time driving back to civilization, wishing I’d have had a few more days to explore the perimeter of the lake and the beckoning hills of bedrock. The tranquility of this place in the summer is a far cry from the main industrial corridor of resource extraction it becomes in the depths of winter.
