Part One: Yukon, ho!

Have you ever felt the urge to get in your vehicle and just drive until you run out of road?

Yeah.

Me too.

And this summer I did just that, embarking on a solo, 16 day, wild camping, 8000km round trip journey from Edmonton to Tuktoyaktuk, reaching the literal end of the road at the Arctic Ocean on August 23rd, six days after I left home.

I passed through wide swaths of Canadian geography; from the boreal forest through to the Rocky Mountains to the Carcross desert, the Tombstone mountains, the vast steppe surrounding the Arctic circle and a tundra dressed in incredible autumn splendour. I saw coastal mountains, boggy swamps, large rivers, and enormous glaciers. I spent many days on the notorious Dempster Highway, explored Inuvik with a new friend and slept in gale force winds on the cusp of the Arctic Ocean.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

How and why did I find myself yearning to make such a journey? How did photography fit into it? Or did it at all?

Let’s begin at the beginning, shall we?

Venturing to Tuktoyaktuk, the northernmost town in Canada reachable by road, (hereby known as Tuk) was something I’d longed to do before I set out on this trip. I’ve been fascinated with Canada’s North well before I picked up a camera and when the Inuvik-Tuk Highway (ITH) was opened in 2017, a fire was sparked within me to one day make the trip. For the first few years after it was opened myself and a few photographer friends made loose plans each fall that disappointingly never came to fruition. Then came the pandemic. And then life just seemed to get busier and busier.

But all the while, Tuk still lingered in the back of my mind.

So why this year? Why was 2025 the year that it finally happened?

Well, the short answer is, I just needed to get away. This was a tough year marked by change and grief and by the time August rolled around, some of the highest burnout I’ve ever experienced as well. I desperately needed a vacation. But where? A few ideas crossed my mind. Milky way photography in the southern hemisphere? Bolivia? Australia? Having many good friends in the latter I actually plotted out a trip but soon realized to see and do everything I wanted would make the trip incredibly stressful. And more stress was not what I needed at this juncture.

What I needed was time alone. Time to think and put everything in perspective. And a solo road trip to a destination that long eluded me seemed like the perfect solution. Within ten short days of making the decision, I had roughly plotted out my trip, secured my provisions, and packed my gear, with a plan to leave on August 18th.

Now it’s at this point I need to stress that this was not a photography trip, per se. It was a personal journey I needed to make; one where photography would happen, certainly, but not one where it was the priority. This allowed me to be a lot more free in the way I approached photographic opportunities instead of being tied to the hectic nature of being at specific places at specific times.

I should also point out that this blog is going to be more of a behind the scenes chronicle of the entire journey. If you just want to see the best photos from the trip, click HERE.

With those caveats out of the way, let’s get on the road, shall we?!

Day 1 – Edmonton to Fort St. John (668km)
Now, I’ll admit, despite the research I put into it all, I had a fair bit of anxiety about this little sojourn as I set out. Would I be able to find decent spots to camp overnight? How would my new rooftop tent do? How would I get by without my trusty old iPod which had just recently died? Would my chronic hip and back pain get the better of me? Would the Jeep make it all this way? Would *I* make it all this way? Afterall, it was a very long way to go all by my lonesome. In an effort to ease my nerves about it all, I set a few “out” points. And the Yukon border was my point of no return. If I was feeling good when I crossed, I was going all the way. The question was…would I make it that far?

Once I got onto highway 43, I quickly settled into the routine of the road. I’ve driven hundreds of thousands of kilometers over the years, chasing storms and searching for cool photography locations, and always find being on the road to be fairly meditative. The landscape remained relatively familiar as the hours and towns passed by. Sangudo, Mayerthorpe, Whitecourt, Fox Creek, Valleyview…and it was between Valleyview and Grande Prairie, about 4.5 hours from home, when the first blast of panic set in – I forgot my passport!

I can hear you now, “but why would you need your passport if you’re just going to Tuk?” Well, it was for the road home. My plan was to visit Stewart, BC and dip into the “ghost town” of Hyder, Alaska to check out the bear viewing platform and the Salmon Glacier. Weirdly enough, you don’t need a passport to enter this part of Alaska but for some silly reason, you need one to come back into Canada. And here I was, nearly five hours from home, realizing I’d forgotten it. I was too far along to turn back so I set up a plan of action. I messaged two very good friends, Amber and Danica, and soon everything was sorted. Amber’s brother lived in Whitehorse. Danica had a key so she could pop in and water my plants. I told her where to find my passport and she couriered my passport to Amber’s brother first thing the next morning. Plenty of time for it to arrive in Whitehorse before me. Crisis averted! Thanks to very good friends!

After gassing up in Grande Prairie and stopping to take a selfie with the giant Beaver in Beaverlodge, I pushed on to Dawson Creek, the start of the Alaska Highway and then to Fort St. John, where I intended to stop for the night. I found a great wild camping spot near a river about 15 minutes northeast of town and set up camp as a beautiful sunset was illuminating the tree-lined river valley. I made some supper, went for a walk and settled in for a cozy night in the tent.

(Continues after photos. Click on each to view in full))

Day 2 – Fort St. John to Summit Lake (507km)
Things got a bit stressful when I woke up and realized I’d misplaced my key sometime during pack up. I knew it was around as I unlocked the Jeep just a few minutes earlier but it took my morning brain way too long to locate it. Once located, I ventured back to Fort St. John to properly set up my Starlink and got back on the road. As I pushed farther north, the terrain became increasingly forested but this section of road was one of my favourites of the whole trip, particularly near Pink Mountain, where wide ditches and smooth pavement added to the vast vistas in the distance.

I took a 17km forestry trunk road detour to Sikanni Chief Falls, unsure of what to expect when I arrived. My hopes that the road would lead directly to the waterfall were dashed upon arrival. The end of the road was marked by a questionable pit toilet and a sign warning of steep cliffs and extreme caution needed. Unsure of how far away the falls actually were from the parking area, I was a bit hesitant to venture on the trail as I was on a bit of a tight timeline to make it to my destination for the night. But I had been driving for hours already and I needed to stretch my legs. I packed up my gear and went out in search of these illustrious falls. After 800m or so, I found the steep cliffs the sign was warning about and decided to descend. After going as far down as I could, the falls were visible across a vast canyon. Not exactly what I had in mind but I had packed my gear that far so I wasn’t leaving without a few moody shots as a storm brewed in the distance. I was in the midst of focusing when I was startled by a voice behind me! You have to remember, this spot is in the middle of nowhere. I wasn’t exactly expecting company here on this ledge! Turns out my unexpected new friend was Adrian from Manitoba who had just arrived in the area for pipeline work. We chatted a bit before being interrupted by the sound of a boat making its way against the current on the river far below us. We watched as it made two attempts to break through the rapids to get to the falls and decided it was time to beat a hasty retreat when the hunters occupying said boat began to indiscriminately fire off shotgun blasts in every direction! Yikes.

To make things worse, about 100m from the parking area, the aforementioned distant storm had gotten a lot closer and began to open up overhead. I made it to the Jeep just as things started to really come down. Originally I planned to have a bite to eat but knew that the steep forestry trunk road ahead of me was about to turn to greasy baby poop so I chose to forgo the rumble in my tummy to get out while I could. The rain came and went as I made my way further north, stopping in Fort Nelson for some Boston Pizza and then again at Parker Lake just outside Fort Nelson where I enjoyed the classic northern lake reflections. I spotted a moose with her calf in the distance and snapped a few photos with my 800mm and 1.4 teleconverter. Just after getting back on the road I encountered a group of sandhill cranes, including a beautiful juvenile, a large group of bison and a fat marmot. As the sun got lower and I pushed further west, I encountered a black bear sow and her three COYs just off the road. I stopped and photographed them in the golden light for a while, keeping my distance and trying to slow oncoming traffic to alert them to their presence. I left thrilled about all the wildlife encounters I was having, thinking it to be a great sign for the journey ahead. Boy was I wrong about that! But I’m getting ahead of myself again…I still needed to find a place to set up camp for the night. My goal was Summit Lake, knowing at the very least there would be a campground there, but I wasn’t sure just how close I’d get before dark. Finally, about 20kms away from Summit Lake, I found a pullout and set up Starlink to check in back home before finally retiring.

Day 3 – Summit Lake to Swift River Wild Camping spot (528km)
I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of pouring rain, which continued until it was time to get on the road. Decked in my rainiest of rain gear, I packed up my sopping wet tent and got on the road.

Encouraged by all the wildlife sightings the day before, I was excited at the prospect of seeing caribou around Summit Lake. But the weather continually proved miserable and the caribou were nowhere to be found – a theme for the remainder of the journey. I pushed through the rain, only stopping to munch a quick breakfast/lunch at Muncho Lake and gas at Toad River before getting to my next stop, Liard Hot Springs. These all natural hot springs were a godsend after 2.5 days on the road. I stayed for over an hour before having a nice lunch in the parking lot and continuing north to the Yukon border. Undeterred by my experience at Sikanni Chief Falls the day before, I made a short detour to Smith River Falls (equally unphotogenic) before getting to the iconic Yukon sign where a chance encounter with fellow Edmontonians, Dylan and Chelsea, who I’d been leapfrogging locations along the highway with, led to some fun photos at the sign. From there, I pushed on to Watson Lake, home of the famous signpost forest.

I had made it to Yukon, my point of no return. There was no turning back now.

Pushed for time, I kept things short in Watson Lake, hoping to make it to Whitehorse or the Carcross Desert before dark. The road was smooth and the scenery was beautiful. A true northern landscape, not that dissimilar to David Thompson Country in Alberta. About 150km west of Watson Lake I passed a great wild camping spot that seemed too perfect to pass up. Feeling exhausted, I spun around, set up camp, made dinner and relaxingly enjoyed the sunset. There were some other campers set up across the field from me and I helped their dog find its ball. This was my second dog visit of the day, having previously met Charlie, a happy golden lab, and his owners a few miles back at Rancheria Falls. I was definitely missing Kwinn on this trip and seeing others travelling with their dogs wasn’t making her absence any easier, even if her photo was on my dash the entire drive, alongside a pic of my other pup, Kneesa, who passed in 2020. I went to sleep with visions of them both and memories of all our adventures on my mind.

Day 4 – Swift River to 20mins south of Dempster (roughly 750km)
Up and at ‘em and on the road at 830am for what would be the biggest push on my trip to Tuk. I was feeling very proud at having made it “so far north” but a quick Google Maps check in Teslin was a serious reality check. I was still over 1500km away from my destination. 22 hours. I was closer to Edmonton than I was to Tuk, timewise at least. I’ll admit, my heart sank a little at that realization. I’d felt I’d come soooo far already only to be reminded I was only roughly halfway. Undeterred, I pushed on to Whitehorse, unsure just how far I’d journey this day. Just outside of town I ran into the folks who were camped in the same spot the night before, Marc and Christine from Ontario, who were also making their way to Tuk. In the city I grabbed lunch, my waiting passport and re-upped on oil and fresh food supplies. Motivated by my earlier epiphany with Google Maps, I decided to push on, wanting to get as far north as I could before calling it a day.

After having already driven 3.5 hours, I pushed for another 5.5, ticking off town after town, crossing after crossing. The road from Whitehorse to Stewart Crossing seemed to worsen as the day went on and I encountered two major roadworks projects where the entire highway had been torn apart for expansion. Just outside the first one, I spotted a dog in a pulloff only to realize that there would be no dogs out here. Suspecting it was a wolf I made an abrupt stop and spun around to find it had disappeared in the short minute it took me to return, leaving only a fresh scat pile to let me know I wasn’t seeing things. My luck with wildlife continued to elude me.

The road got worse and worse, forcing me to dodge large sections of large potholes, playing a Jeep-sized game of Whack-a-Mole. This continued to Stewart Crossing where I encountered another massive road reconstruction, followed by more and more potholes and sharp twists and curves. After about 45 minutes through the boggy landscape, the road improved significantly; smooth, straight and wide. I tried to push to the start of the Dempster but after passing a great gravelpit pullout, I opted to stop about 20 mins short of my goal to set up a nice secluded camp for the night. More wolf scat here but no actual wolves to be seen. Typical.

Day 5 – Dawson City to Arctic Circle (445km)
This was the day! Dempster Day! This was the day the REAL adventure began, making the previous 2500km seem like child’s play. For those who don’t know, the Dempster Highway is one of the most notorious roads in North America. A 740km gravel “highway” that runs from just outside Dawson City, through the Arctic Circle, shifting back east into the Northwest Territories and then on to Inuvik, before becoming the ITH, which was opened in 2017, and connects Inuvik to the Arctic Ocean. It’s more akin to a forestry trunk road in various states of condition and it has a reputation for shredding tires, shattering windshields, destroying axles, and leaving people stranded. There are limited services and everything you read recommends that you take two spare tires and extra cans of gas to ensure you make it to the end.

So, does it live up to its reputation?

Well, kind of. Spoiler alert, it’s still a really rough road but, in my opinion, it’s no longer the road that earned it its reputation. There are enough locations to get gas along the way but there is always a slight risk one of them may be out of fuel. But the speed you have to drive on the Dempster (I never went faster than 70kph) means much greater fuel economy and at no point did I feel like I’d run out of gas, driving an uneconomical Jeep with a heavy rooftop tent on top. As for tires, the road is rough, VERY rough in some spots, but it’s not the shale shredder it was 20-30 years ago. You absolutely need to have heavy duty, 10 ply tires, and I’d still advise taking a spare, but if you follow these guidelines, you *should* be okay.

But I’m getting ahead of myself! I haven’t even started on the Dempster yet in the telling of this tale!

I started the day quietly reflecting on the journey so far and everything that had brought me here. I didn’t intend on going to Dawson City before starting on the Dempster but the Klondike Corner gas station was out of fuel and I had no choice but to go to town and fuel up. I drove through the old part of Dawson and stopped at the sign on my way out for a quick little selfie. By the time I made it back to Klondike Corner, the station had fuel again so I topped up, took my selfies at the Dempster sign, steeled my resolve and set out on the hardest part of the trip.

About 50km in on the Dempster is Tombstone Territorial Park, a vast, remote and stunningly beautiful park spanning over 2100 square kms of toothy mountains, tundra and vast steppes that make you feel more like you’re in Mongolia than Canada. There is a visitor center and one campground but it’s otherwise an unserviced park. Knowing I’d be spending time there on my way back, I pushed through, stopping only to take a few photos and notes for when I returned. After the park, the Dempster winds along rivers and cliffs before opening up to the incredible Ogilvie Ridge, one of my favourite parts of the drive. The road traverses a ridge over the Ogilvie range with vast views of a seemingly raw and untouched planet earth. I’ve seen a lot of places in my time but this one truly made me feel small. No photos or video could do it justice.

The road around Ogilvie Ridge was also one of the roughest on the Dempster. Intense washboard punctuated by giant potholes that creep up on you unexpectedly. The next stop on the way was Eagle Plains, which is also the first place since Klondike Corner where you can get fuel, a whopping 369km apart. They price their fuel accordingly too. I paid $2.38 per litre, the highest anywhere on the trip, to fill my tank here.

Getting to Eagle Plains also meant I was getting closer to my penultimate destination on the trip, the Arctic Circle sign! While Tuk was my final destination and what I was most excited for, truthfully, I was equally excited to make it to this marker. A short 37km from Eagle Plains, the Arctic Circle sign marks a transition into the true north at 66.5 degrees latitude. The views here were incredible, overlooking a huge tundra valley dipped in fall colour, punctuated by rolling mountains to the north and east. I found a campsite just 1.5km north of the sign and set up for the night, making dinner, having a makeshift camp “shower” and soaking in the silence and scenery. This would prove to be my absolutely favourite landscape on the entire trip.

Day 6 – Arctic Circle to Tuk (481km)
I woke to the sound of light rain on my tent and yellow warblers singing nearby. I laid in the tent for a while, enjoying the view from my tent and the warmth of my bed. It was a great start to a long day; one where I wasn’t sure I’d end up. Would I stop and stay in Inuvik for the night or would I push hard all the way to Tuk? Only time would tell.

As I drove closer to the Yukon/NWT border, the weather got progressively more miserable. A massive cloud inversion blanketed the landscape and rain made the black gravel road slippery, especially down into the valleys and up the hills. By the time I made it to the NWT border, the wind and the fog made things borderline unbearable with next to no visibility. Which was a shame as I was told it was an incredibly beautiful landscape to drive through. But as bad as the weather was for me in the Jeep, it was infinitely worse for those I drove past riding pedal bikes. Now that’s hardcore.

Both the weather and roads improved significantly near Midway Lake and the drive became much more enjoyable again. I was the only one on the ferry at Pelly Crossing and the last one on at the Mackenzie crossing, and it was a VERY tight squeeze! I made really good time to Inuvik and, after getting gas, decided to start on the ITH and make the final push to Tuk. I was too close to stop now.

The road was slow going in many places and quite washboard-y at times, but the views across the tundra were incredible and it was a truly amazing experience to drive through this landscape.

I arrived to the outskirts of Tuk around 7pm, stopping to take a few photos of the pingos, intra-permafrost, ice-cored hills. While I was stopped an eagle slowly flew past, as if welcoming me to my final destination. As I drove past the graveyard I spotted another eagle, perfectly perched on the entrance. Unsure if it was real or a statue, I pulled in for a closer look where another traveler was also enjoying the experience (more on her in the next part). The eagle was very real and it made for an incredible photo.

I arrived to the Welcome Centre just as it was closing up, three hours early. Apparently there was a power outage, forcing it to close, but Jason, the attendant, opened again to get my campsite permit sorted.

This was it. I was almost there. My next stop would be the literal end of the road. I drove through town, passing a ballgame and people zipping by on quads. And just minutes later, I had arrived. The Arctic Ocean. 3378km from home. The top of the continent. The end of not just this journey but symbolically one that started 15 years earlier. One that saw me focused on being a struggling business owner and a dog dad. One full of love and loss, that saw me mired in and overcoming depression, and so much adversity.

I took the pics of Kwinn and Kneesa that had guided me this whole trip off the dash and walked with them to the shore. I become overwhelmed with emotion. Everything just came flooding out, here, at the end of the road.

I had made it.

Not just to Tuk. I had made it through a huge chapter of my life and it was time to close it.

As the evening went on, a massive storm blew in with rain and 70kph winds. A storm surge warning was issued. Everyone hunkered down. But just before the sun set, it dipped between a thin slit on the horizon, between the cloud and the ocean, and there it lingered for several minutes, bathing everything in a warm glow. The rain stopped. I sat with my camera, watching the waves and the birds, so incredibly grateful for everything, all the good and the bad, that had brought me to this point; to this one moment, here at the end of the road and the top of the world, embraced by the sun and the wind and the memories of a life well-lived.

I had photographed more spectacular sunsets over the years but none quite so meaningful as this.

Tomorrow would be a new day. Tomorrow I would start writing the next chapter of my life and take my first steps on a brand new road.

Click here for Part Two: The Long Way Home.