Canada : the Yukon on horseback ( 캐나다 유콘 승마 여행 ) * 참고 : 가족 끼리 문명 의 도구 비행기 차량 등 을 피해 순수 자연 과 일치 되 는 말 과 함께 자연 을 즐겨 보 는 시간 가져 보 면 어떨까 요 ? * 출처 / Unicorn Trails Horseriding Holidays Worldwide 에서 Determined to show her young daughter a landscape inaccessible by car or plane , Louise Carpenter learnt to ride and set off on an expedition to the wild tundra and forest of the Yukon in Canada , a barely populated region of nearly 200 , 000 square miles Louise and Dolly Carpenter and three of their fellow expedition members journey from Rose Lake to Big Ben Cabin on the eighth day of their trip Photo : Grant Harder By Louise Carpenter 8 : 00 AM GMT 09 Feb 2014 I am – or rather I was – that sad urban mother living in the countryside and bored by horses . I ’ ve never liked their stamping hooves or their flared nostrils , or the way horseboxes trundle down lanes holding up traffic . How then did I end up in a family that feels the horse - love in its bones ? My in - laws hunted , competed and taught , and now my own children ride . Dolly , my eldest and keenest , has been trying to get me in the saddle for years with no success . I once got on and fell off the other side , but we don ’ t talk about that . It took the prospect of an adventure of a lifetime to get me to try again : a trip to the Yukon , almost 200 , 000 square miles of largely unpopulated Canadian tundra and forest on the border with Alaska , which would be virtually impossible to see properly in any other way . If I could master the riding , Dolly and I would be part of an expedition of six riders , four packhorses , one guide and a helper . I liked the sound of this challenge , but more than anything I loved the idea of giving Dolly , nine , an experience she would remember for the rest of her life . The expedition would involve long days crossing an often punishing landscape that tells the story of exploding volcanoes , grinding glaciers , immense inland seas and millions of years of mountain building . There would be no loos , no running water , no hospitals and no method of communication with the rest of the world except our French - Canadian guide ’ s one emergency satellite phone . Our food would be carried on packhorses and we would sleep in small , basic tents that we would pitch ourselves at the end of each day . At night temperatures would drop to zero . Days could be up to 27 C . Then there would be the wildlife : woodland caribou , mule deer , lynx , wolverines , coyotes , wolves , 224 species of birds and more than 1 , 500 species of insects ; plus about 1 , 200 species of plants . There could also be what is probably the most exciting and dangerous Yukon species of all – the grizzly bear . Dolly would be the youngest child ever to have joined the expedition . In fact only one child , aged 10 , had done it before , and she rode for three days . We would be riding for eight . Was I mad to even consider it ? It often felt that way . But as I prepared with weekly lessons , slowly growing in confidence , I began to fall in love with riding , too . Corny and neat , but true . Dolly with her second horse , Santana . Photo : Grant Harder I am not one of those naturally adventurous parents who seek to build character through adversity . I asked many questions of myself and our expedition organiser , Unicorn Trails , a respected , safety - conscious company specialising in rides around the world : Would my riding be good enough ? Would Dolly ’ s riding be good enough ? Would she be able to cope with being in the saddle for up to eight hours a day ? Would her age ruin the expedition for the four other riders ? How would we get to hospital if something went wrong ? As it turned out , I saw my daughter grow in confidence and subtly change in ways I could never have imagined . If the idea of the trip was togetherness , an equal joy was to let go so she could become an independent , popular , working member of the expedition . Here is the diary I kept of our journey . Day one , July 6 By the time we arrive at our guide , Pierre Fournier ’ s , log cabin on a five - acre ranch six miles outside Whitehorse , the capital of the Yukon , Dolly and I have been travelling for 22 hours . The Yukon itself is twice the size of Britain , bordered by British Columbia to the south , Alaska to the west , the Northwest Territories to the east and the Arctic Ocean to the north . There is brilliant sunshine outside although it is already 8 pm , and it will stay like this all night . The cabin is like something from Seven Brides for Seven Brothers . Dolly loves it – along with the smelly hole - in - the - ground sawdust lavatory hut , which she declares to be ‘ awesome ’. I ’ m not so keen . Over the coming days I ’ ll remember that loo as luxury . Party food is laid out for us and the other riders to snack on while we mingle . There is Frances , a London - based consultant psychiatrist , Peter , a hill farmer from the Highlands , and David , a retired research scientist ; Patricia , a physiotherapist from Marseille , has been delayed and will arrive tomorrow . None of us really want a party sausage , but Dolly tucks in , hoovering up Hula Hoops , unable to believe her luck . She chatters away to the others . There ’ s nothing like a child high on excitement and E - numbers to break the ice . I have no idea at this point that our fellow riders will come to feel like family . Louise and the expedition guide , Pierre Fournier , outside former hunters ’ cabins . Photo : Grant Harder Pierre is thin and craggy , with leathery brown skin and sunken cheeks . He has a cigarette permanently hanging from his lips . His hands are big and worn down by years of horse ropes and husky dogs . There is dirt and nicotine on his fingers . He looks like Willem Dafoe and talks with a French accent . He is riveting . There are 30 husky dogs barking away out at the back of the ranch , and we can hear cowbells , worn by the ranch horses , jangling . These big heavy bells are Pierre ’ s alarm system against bears . We will be relying on the horses ’ senses to know if danger is approaching ; their bells will start clanging wildly and Pierre will wake up . It sounds a bit , well , basic . ‘ Do you have a gun ? ’ I ask . ‘ No , ’ he says . ‘ If you carry a gun , you are gonna shoot something . ’ It is our first glimpse of Pierre ’ s extraordinary respect for the wildlife and the landscape . As an assistant trapper he catches and kills wolves , wolverines , lynx and caribou , but under strict government guidelines . Shooting a bear on an expedition is a heinous act . We will carry bear spray , but only as a final resort . Pierre draws the day to a close . Dolly and I climb on to a thin mattress , which we share with Frances . The men sleep in another , more basic cabin behind . Day two Today is spent on the ranch getting to know our horses and the drills that will be required of us . It is a lot to take in . Pierre demonstrates how he wants us to tack up , how he likes the saddlebags to be knotted , how the blankets must lie and how the saddles must be stored at night . We are told to keep our horses away from the packhorses , which we will soon discover to be the unreliable bad boys of our trip . They are Pierre ’ s responsibility . We go out for our first ride in the wilderness around the ranch to get used to the western saddles and so Pierre can check our riding skills . We will ride in single file and Pierre decides that Dolly will stay behind me – so she can see me – but in front of David , a highly experienced rider who will keep an eye on her technique . I feel oddly confident although these horses are not the pony - school press - button type we ’ re used to . Dolly ’ s confidence surprises both David and Pierre . Mosquitoes and jet lag are our main problems . It is hot . Dolly refuses to wear her mosquito head net . Her call ; I ’ ve decided to take a hands - off approach . As long as she is safe , she can make her own choices and bear the consequences . ( Suncream and repellent are non - negotiable . ) We sleep in the afternoon and barbecue in the evening . Phoning home , we hear that Andy Murray has won Wimbledon . Everybody cheers . We are starting to relax with each other . Day three We wake to the news that the horses are gone . All 15 have bolted off after kicking down the ranch fencing . This sounds like very bad news to me , given that the expedition is due to leave this morning , but Pierre seems only mildly worried . Later I will realise that this is what makes a good guide , the ability not to panic , or perhaps the ability to hide that you are panicking . He goes looking for them in his car . Camping on the shore of Rose Lake . Photo : Grant Harder Pierre tells us that four of the runaway horses are replacement packhorses for others that got away earlier in the summer and haven ’ t been found . These horses were what he calls ‘ green ’ when he got them , and he hasn ’ t had them long . Each packhorse will carry two 20 kg bags of food , clothes and camping equipment . Yesterday Pierre showed us how he weighs the bags on portable electronic scales to ensure he doesn ’ t exceed this . They are tied together , nose to tail . It seems hard work for a horse . I can ’ t help thinking it ’ s no wonder they ran off . The horses are eventually found and brought back , and towards the end of the afternoon we leave the ranch , headed for Bonneville Lake . The packhorses are difficult from the start , but Pierre is tough . I try to appear breezy so Dolly doesn ’ t get anxious . I ’ ll do this quite a bit over the coming week and keeping it up is emotionally exhausting . For three and a half hours we follow the trails forged by wild animals , travelling over a mountainous pass , through dense forest , into the alpine countryside and high up the side of a mountain . It is raining when we arrive at our camp , and there is work to do . Tents have to go up ; a fire has to be built ; the horses have to be untacked and tied near grass and water ; and the food has to be cooked on the fire . The work is divided up . We are all a bit subdued but nobody complains , including Dolly . She helps to gather wood and build the fire while I struggle with a tent . It ’ s a bonding moment for us all . We are beginning to get on tremendously well . We eat a pasta supper at 10 pm and go to bed , oblivious to the whitest of nights . Day four It feels freezing . Pierre is tacking up the horses . Dolly and I are each holding a roll of loo paper in a plastic sandwich bag . Pierre handed them out yesterday . Bodily functions are performed in the bushes . If you don ’ t want to be seen , you walk further away – or choose a bigger bush . I can ’ t help envying Dolly for being a child , not yet burdened by embarrassment . Throughout the night wind howled around our tent . I tried to keep Dolly warm but her eyes filled with tears . ‘ I want to go home . ’ I anticipated these words , but so soon ? I tried to jolly her . She was hungry – our body clocks are haywire . Children can ’ t wait for food as adults can . We stole biscuits from the food supply , kept away from the tents because of the threat of bears , and she was laughing again . Today we ride over Marmot Pass , heading for Ibex Lake . Eagles swoop above us and I hear Dolly whoop when she spots the antlers of a caribou in the distance . We are at 4 , 920 feet and there is still snow on the ground here and there . The tundra is breathtaking . We are travelling towards the coastal mountains of Alaska , and the landscape is like that of the Highlands , except there are no roads or people . This land would not be accessible in any other way , except perhaps by foot . The very steep descent on dry , sandy land is hairy – I ’ m at my technical limit . David is watching over Dolly , who has had trouble with her boisterous pony . With our tents pitched by a still pond , Dolly runs barefoot to the water ’ s edge with Frances . Using Frances ’ binoculars they find a ptarmigan and her chicks , and they identify a breed Dolly names the ‘ Frances Duck ’. Thanks to the campfire , the vista and the birdsong , I ’ m hit by a wave of happiness and freedom . Day five We ’ re all switching horses . The terrain ahead is too difficult for Dolly to stay on her erratic pony . Dolly is having my horse and I ’ m having Peter ’ s , a huge black beast called Arkan whose massive saddle bruises me all the way down my inner thighs . Still , he feels solid and safe , particularly as we cross water – a first for Dolly and me – and a lot of boggy land . When we jump streams or wade through boggy ground , the horses ’ legs sink alarmingly low . Dolly travels with Pierre on his horse on this terrain , a precaution I ’ m glad of . He is constantly aware that he has a child with him , and because of that I feel better about her safety . I hear David giving Dolly a geography lesson behind me . ‘ Eskers are long , winding ridges of sand and gravel deposited by a stream flowing in or under a decaying glacier . ’ ‘ Really ? Wow ! ’ ‘ A drumlin is an elongated hill in the shape of an inverted spoon or half - buried egg formed by glacial ice acting on underlying glacial debris . ’ She listens intently , and the horses run gleefully . ‘ Keep her close , ’ Pierre shouts to David . Frances is thrown off into the bracken . Peter ’ s horse rolls with him on it . Then all the horses begin to roll . Pierre shouts to get Dolly off before hers tips . She ’ s shaken . Arkan rolls but I get my leg out of the stirrup in time . Pierre Fournier , the guide , rides through the shallows of Rose Lake . Photo : Grant Harder At lunch we pick up four wild horses that come charging towards us , manes flying in the wind . It ’ s like something out of a film . They threaten to disrupt the equilibrium of our group , though . They nudge and annoy the packhorses , trying to budge into the established pecking order . There is nothing we can do . It is raining again , which brings out the mosquitoes . My knee is throbbing . It ’ s three times its normal size , an allergic reaction to multiple bites . I can ’ t keep it in the stirrup , which makes control difficult on steep declines . We are running hideously behind schedule . We have been hours and hours in the saddle , and Pierre doesn ’ t yet know how we will cover the ground necessary to get to Rose Lake to meet the floatplane bringing us supplies of food and water the day after tomorrow . We are mournful during our bonfire supper , but we have real mettle and similar temperaments – not a display of queeniness from any of us – and vote to ride on until about 10 pm to make up time . Day six Pierre has found a way of getting us to Rose Lake in time for supper . When I ask him how he gives me a ravaged grin . He is actually looking even more ravaged than before , like he is a creature of the forest himself . He doesn ’ t seem to have eaten for the whole trip , has barely slept , is absolutely filthy ( as are all of us ) , and has run out of his cigarettes . He is a mysterious man , but a reassuring one . It is striking how emotions and conditions can veer between extremes in a short space of time : from despair to elation , from shivering rain to brilliant sunshine . Today is wet and cold , and Dolly ’ s physical discomfort becomes focused on an invented worry about the wild horses kicking and biting her horse . Frances , being a psychiatrist , tells me I ’ ve got to shut the anxiety down before it takes a grip and holds us up . I ’ m firm with Dolly . ‘ We ’ ll take away your biscuit ! ’ Frances shouts . ‘ No hot chocolate for you ! ’ Dolly starts laughing . She adores Frances . From left   Dolly , Louise and Frances swimming in Rose Lake on the seventh day . Photo : Grant Harder I hate riding through alpine forests . I hate the branches that threaten to knock off our hats as the horses charge through the bracken . The back of Peter ’ s jacket is ripped off . Frances and I are unable to stop laughing . Poor Peter , with no coat and two hysterical women behind him . The coastal mountains rise to the south - east and the land is pocketed with lakes created by beaver dams . The rain tips down and we ride through apocalyptic scenes of burnt - out forests . By 6 pm we are making the steep descent down to Rose Lake . By now I can barely ride , but when we reach the lake , we are speechless . It is beautiful . I want to weep with exhaustion and elation . We pitch our tent on the shore . I kick away moose dung . Pierre sleeps for hours . You can feel the relief like a halo around him . Day seven The sun is shining , which feels like a reward from the gods . The ice is melting on the tops of the coastal mountains in the distance . There is no riding today , and we are happy . Pierre shows us the hunters ’ cabins of long ago , now owned by the government . The hunters ’ names are carved into the beams . One has written , no base like base camp / no cook like dora . It is a powerful moment , as if we are rediscovering the frontier . We walk to the shore of Rose Lake where there is a landing strip for the floatplane . Food , alcohol and Pierre ’ s cigarettes are unloaded . I have never been so filthy in all my life . I ’ ve given up trying to brush Dolly ’ s thick hair . The dirt is enough for us both to brave the freezing temperatures of the lake for a swim . We party in the white night and Dolly skips around taking pictures until she can last no longer . Louise and Dolly near Big Ben Cabin . Photo : Grant Harder Day eight We arrive at Big Ben Cabin and the men agree that Dolly , Frances , Patricia and I can sleep on the bunks . It feels like we ’ re at the Dorchester . We make our last meal on the stove – steaks eaten by candlelight around a proper table . I realise with a jolt that we are leaving in the morning . I put the thought out of my mind . Day nine At 9 am a helicopter is due to arrive to take Dolly and me to Whitehorse airport , where we will begin the journey home . The expedition will continue for three days without us , but everybody is up to wave us off . We say goodbye to our horses . I will miss solid , dependable Arkan . As Dolly and I walk to the field where the helicopter is due to land we cannot look at one another , we don ’ t want to leave . We hear the whir of the helicopter ’ s blades and it comes into view . It lands , and as our luggage is loaded we kiss everybody goodbye . We fly over the mountains and the forests and the rivers that we have crossed so arduously for days . Tears stream down our faces , but we are not sad – just very , very moved . 사업자 정보 표시 ( 주 ) 갤 롭 투어 | 이승욱 | 서울 송파구 동남 로 18 길 9 극동 상가 B 34 호 ( 가락 2 동 ) | 사업자 등록 번호 : 201 - 86 - 30421 | TEL : 02 - 773 - 7070 | Mail : galloptour @ gmail . com | 통신 판매 신고 번호 : 신고 면 제호 | 사이버 몰의 이용 약관 바로 가 기