Northern
Exposure: Tombstone Park
by Teresa Earle
The Globe and Mail, August 2003
All images
© Fritz Mueller
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We drove past green and ochre mountain flanks being consumed by the downward creep of a crimson alpenglow, and watched the frost encrusted tundra melt into a dewy glaze. Mesmerized by the morning light show unfolding around me, I quickly forgot about the cozy cocoon I'd left behind. Crossing the Blackstone Uplands, we approached a generously sized pond named Two Moose Lake. Standing chest-high in the water and lurking in shadows along the shore stood nine moose. That's not a typo-we counted nine beautiful moose. Though the changing light played with our eyes, we made out several large sets of antlers plunging underwater and bobbing up again, mouths full of aquatic grasses torn from the lake bottom. As we pulled in to watch, two wary moose cows and their long-legged calves retreated into thickets of dwarf birch. While I can't pretend that nine moose represents a typical Tombstone morning, it does reflect the kind of treasures we came upon during our explorations of this enchanting park. Far from the spotlight fixed on our national parks, in the Yukon a traveler can find wilderness and solitude in a regional park of world-class proportions. Tombstone Park is a six-hour drive from Yukon's capital, Whitehorse-far enough away to deter big crowds, but close enough that it's still convenient to get to. Located in northcentral Yukon and surrounded by a generous cushion of wilderness, it's a bit of an exception among modern parks. The area isn't facing urban or agricultural pressures, and it wasn't carved out to prevent the imminent collapse of a particular species. Tombstone largely came to be because it's special to the region's aboriginal community. One look at the landscape spilling out around me and I understood why. Fascinating landforms dominate the setting. Tombstone straddles glaciated features as well as the distinctive unglaciated Beringia landscape, where wooly mammoths and sabre-toothed tigers once roamed. The ancient rounded peaks of the Ogilvie Mountains lie to the north, while a jagged range of iconic peaks figure prominently in the heart of the park. |
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In contrast to these moody granite ridges and spires, Tombstone also encompasses the expansive Blackstone Uplands, a stretch of rolling tundra known for wildlife. Woodland caribou, grizzly and black bears, wolves and Dall sheep also live in the park, as do small mammals like marmots, foxes and porcupines. The southern Dempster is a hotspot for birding; in one afternoon we spotted tundra swans, a golden eagle, arctic terns, a rough-legged hawk and two kinds of ptarmigan. Puttering along in a car or RV, there are plenty of pullouts, viewpoints, day hikes and natural diversions. Leaving the highway, we walked through hip-high thickets of willow toward the Blackstone River. My feet sank into plush pillows of moss and lichen, and I was enveloped by the distinctive tundra aroma-a verdant, earthy mix of Labrador Tea, berry bushes and dwarf birch. Dropping to my knees, I found an extraordinarily complex world that begged the assistance of a good northern plant guide. Tombstone became a territorial park just three years ago, the inspired result of a land claims settlement with the Tro'n dëk Hwëch'in First Nation. Proof of the if-you-create-it-they-will-come premise, the park draws more visitors each year and provides a natural complement to the heritage attractions of nearby Dawson City. The area is easy to get to, but the 750-km Dempster Highway is, shall we say, rather spartan in services. With gas stations at either end, and one lone outpost in the middle, the entire journey is an original driving adventure. But a visit to the park that anchors the famed Dempster doesn't require significant logistical effort. Tombstone campground and interpretive centre are located 70 km from the south end of the highway, altogether just 80 minutes from historic Dawson City. To some, Tombstone's expressive name conjures up visions of graveyards and Wyatt Earp. But a look at the park's most prominent peak clears up any questions about the nomenclature. Driving north from the interpretive centre, a pinnacle of black granite comes into view up the north fork of the Klondike River. In more recent years, this flat-faced landmark became known as Tombstone Mountain for its resemblance to a grave marker. The Tro'n dëk Hwëch'in people know the range as Ddhal Ch'el, meaning "among the sharp, jagged rocky mountains." The Tombstone peak is like an anchor at the valley apex, a fixture on the landscape that has been used for navigation for centuries. With several thousand visitors driving past each summer, it's certainly one of the more photographed viewscapes in the Yukon. Tombstone's setting is riveting, but its story is equally dramatic. This is a park that almost wasn't, and it still faces challenges somewhat unbecoming to a wilderness park. In the mid-1990s, numerous mining claims were staked just prior to a tardy moratorium on staking in the area by the government. All but one small local exploration company agreed to relinquish their claims inside the park boundaries. Since then, a contentious battle has raged over Tombstone's future. Though officially made a park in 2000, its status remains a flashpoint of controversy between the stubborn junior mining company and those who worked so hard to establish the park. Exploration permits continue to be issued, and the company wants to build a road to their claims in the park. The issue is dividing the local community, pitting miners against recreational, tourism and First Nations interests. It's a Yukon drama with all the classic protagonists, and it's part of the Tombstone story told by park interpreters at the Dempster Highway Interpretive Centre. In 1985 the Yukon government hauled a small single-wide trailer to km 71.5 on the Dempster Highway. Sustained by slim budgets and midnight sun giddiness, keen naturalists have busied themselves each summer creating displays and conjuring up new ways to share the area's natural history with highway travelers and hikers. On our last evening I collected my daypack, strapped some bear spray to my belt, and went to the centre for the after-dinner walk. A dozen of us piled into vehicles and drove ten kilometres up the highway to Angelcomb Peak. The group made its way up the trail, and we stopped to catch our breath at a ridge. The interpreter, Gladys Netro, pointed across Anglecomb's rugged hillside and explained that it's important lambing habitat for Dall sheep. Golden eagles routinely circle overhead searching the mountain's rocky face for vulnerable lambs. Ms. Netro is Vuntut Gwitchin, and though she comes from a distant community-Old Crow is a remote village nearly three hundred kilometres north of the park-she quietly imparted upon her listeners the vital importance of Tombstone to her people. Barren ground caribou from the Porcupine herd regularly winter in the Tombstone area. Ms. Netro likened the caribou herd to a mobile grocery store, a source of food that has sustained the Vuntut Gwitchin people for centuries. Each spring, the herd of approximately 100,000 caribou migrates from the forests of central Yukon to the North Slope plains where cows drop their calves and the herd grazes on tundra tussocks. Along with many from her community, Ms. Netro has been a vocal opponent of proposed oil drilling in Alaska's Arctic National Wildlife Refuge just across the border from Old Crow. The Vuntut Gwitchin have led the charge to prevent any disturbance to the birthing grounds of the caribou. Her passion for the issue ignited many in our group, prompting a steady stream of questions as we descended to the vehicles. Suddenly Tombstone seemed so connected to a place in the Arctic most of us will only ever read about. Last summer, about 8,000 people walked through the doors of the inconspicuous 10 x 24-foot interpretive centre. With steady increases in Dempster traffic each year, and the spike in interest in the Tombstone backcountry since the park was established, plans are afoot to construct a new building. The new centre will be relocated outside the campground, and the artistic and scientific detritus accumulated over two decades in the trailer may not survive the move. Summer 2003 could see a pilgrimage by past interpreters and visitors keen to see the funky old centre one last time. Tombstone Park is convenient to access for a day, a weekend, or a longer multi-day hike, and the campground is an excellent base. While some visitors opt to join a guided backcountry trek in Tombstone, most seem to enjoy exploring the park independently or in the company of an interpreter. Though a visit any time in the summer is recommended, the last week of August through Labour Day weekend is particularly special. The first frosts transform the tundra vegetation into swaths of crimson and gold, heralding the not-too-distant arrival of winter. * * * If you go Getting
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