What’s the vibe?
Luxury is a weird concept. For some, it might mean a tropical overwater villa with all the trimmings, or a grande dame hotel in one of the world’s great cities.
For others – myself included – it’s often found in the earthy places where you can shed the frenetic pace of modern life and reconnect. Sky High Wilderness Ranch, a 30-minute drive from Whitehorse, Yukon, set on Kwanlin Dün First Nation land beside Łu Zil Män (Fish Lake), is exactly that kind of stay.
A dry cabin here strips life back to essentials. There are no pipes under the floorboards and no taps to turn. Instead, water is hauled in by hand, heated on the woodstove, and poured into a gravity shower for a warm wash.
A man mushes sled dogs across a frozen lake
Cathie Archbould
Groceries are stowed in a cooler; meals are cooked on a two-ring camp stove inside. (Pro tip: don’t be incompetent like me and rest an electric kettle on it, unless you want to redecorate the cabin in fire extinguisher foam.) When nature calls, the composting loo in a small outhouse awaits. It’s a way of living that feels rough-cut and old-school, yet deeply liberating.
The ranch is also home to more than one hundred huskies, whose morning chorus doubles as a natural alarm clock. They’ll sometimes pad over during the day, curling up on the porch or sniffing at your legs, eager for attention.
If you’re canine-averse, this isn’t the place for you. Likewise, if you can’t imagine life without central heating, you’ll want to look to Whitehorse’s hotels instead.
But for me, it was just right: the crackle of the stove, the homely fug of woodsmoke, the flickering tongues of firelight on the cabin walls, and the company of Jack London by lantern light combined to lull me into a slumber more restorative than anything promised by the slickest sleep retreat.
A dry cabin in Sky High Wilderness Ranch, Yukon
What to eat and drink?
Whatever you can carry in and cook simply will do. Eggs and bacon in a pan make for a hearty breakfast, or porridge if you prefer something healthier. More often than not, I found myself eating in town, at restaurants like Gather or Klondike Rib & Salmon.
One evening, though, I was generously invited by wilderness guide and staff member Kristína Kapusňáková to her birthday – a potluck dinner around a bonfire on the shore of the glass-flat lake, presided over serenely by a lone swan.
Someone had brought Cantonese noodles from a ‘nearby’ (read: 20km away) takeaway, their flavours intensified by the crisp air and the clarity of the setting.
What to do?
This is where it gets really exciting. On the morning of my arrival, still bleary-eyed from jet lag, I hoick myself onto a packhorse named Reba and follow Kapusňáková along a rain-slick stretch of trail. We thread between stands of trembling aspen and paper birch, push through dense thickets of black spruce, our waterproofs plastered to our arms, until we top out at a clearing.
From there, the sublimity of the Yukon unfurls: vast forests circling glacial lakes, tapering into bare ridgelines and peaks. The scale beggars belief. Back at the lodge, both shivering from the cold, Kapusňáková and I swap our riding gear for running shoes and set out to bag a local peak.
A man and sled dogs take a break in the snow
Elliot Ross
Before leaving, we unleash five eager huskies – Earth, Surge, Ariana, Atlas and Šárka – for company and, more pragmatically, to announce our presence to any black or grizzly bears lurking in the brush.
Past the lake, we find the trailhead and begin the climb to the 1,484-metre Fish Lake Lookout, focusing on not tripping over the dogs as they weave in and out of the way.
The summit is veiled in cloud, visibility down to only a few metres, but the payoff of endorphins is more than worth the outlay.
Mountain running with working dogs was a highlight of my year, but it probably pales in comparison to the sledding experiences and expeditions that are run from Sky High Wilderness Ranch in the winter; reason enough in itself for a return.
Prices start from £153 for two nights; skyhighwilderness.com
