After getting a well-deserved good night’s rest, our first item on the agenda for our first day in Inuvik was to find a garage that could fix our flat tire—or, better yet, that had a new tire to replace it with. The second option I knew was going to be very unlikely. I remembered the words of the forest ranger who had taken our picture at the Arctic Circle stop, “You had better drive carefully, those look like odd-size tires on your car.”
He made that observation standing at least 100 feet from our car, and it turns out he was spot on in his assessment. Our car tires fit on a 19” rim, while the vast majority of SUVs are 17” or 18” rims. The garage owners in Inuvik confirmed his warning words in as much that there were no 19” tires in town.
Roy, owner of the third garage we visited, thought that the tire looked repairable and to leave it with him for a couple of hours. With that job underway, we set out to cruise the town.
As we were driving slowly and looking for souvenir stores, I was asking myself where the polar bears were when you wanted one, when I had a brainstorm. Bears hang around town dumps! If we could locate the town dump, I bet we find ourselves a bear or two. What could possibly go wrong?
So when we were getting ready to leave the next shop, and after commenting on the quality of the artwork on display,I casually asked the attendant, “Um, do you know where your town’s dump is located?”
From her reaction, I don’t think she was asked that question every day. I explained to her my theory that dumps equal bears, and maybe we could get some pictures. After her initial shock subsided, she agreed that that was indeed a possibility, and proceeded to give us directions to the facility. After thanking her for her time and her help, and again complimenting her on the quality of her wares, we headed out in search of the dump, which was only a mile out of town. It struck us as being funny to have travelled this distance, to have come this far, to visit a dump, but the possibility of getting some great pictures seemed to make it a worthwhile attempt.
The lady’s directions were good and we found the dump with its gate open, so in we drove. Unfortunately, there was a lot of machinery driving around, pushing refuse this way and that, making far too much noise for any self-respecting bear to put up with. After driving around for a minute, and waving at the workers, who seemed to appreciate the company of someone from Ontario, we left, obviously disappointed that our quest for bear pictures ended unfulfilled.
Back at the garage, our tire was literally ready to roll. Roy assured me that the original repair was still good (so I silently removed all curses that I had bestowed on mechanic number one) and handed me yet another sharp-edged stone that had penetrated the radial belts. I asked Roy what he thought our odds were on getting back to Dawson City without getting another flat. He guessed about 50/50. I then told him we were going to Tuktoyaktuk before heading back to Dawson. Upon hearing this, he simply smiled, shook my hand, and walked away, muttering to himself some unkind judgments of tourists.
It was now three in the afternoon, but knowing that we had at least another nine hours of daylight left we decided to set out for the Arctic Ocean, some 130 kilometres due north. On the two-hour drive we saw many fires, but the wind was blowing the smoke away from us, so both visibility and air quality was good. This far north there are no trees, just moss and shrubs, so the fires, caused by lightning strikes on ground that has had very little rainfall on it this summer, appear to move rather slowly. There is no attempt to extinguish these fires. There are helicopters that keep an eye on them, and the pilots relay speed and direction to ground personnel, who in turn pass this information along to the residents.
We got into Tuktoyaktuk around 5:30. We drove through the settlement and arrived on the shore of the Arctic Ocean. After 13 days on the road, and after travelling approximately 4000 miles, it seemed surreal that we arrived at this location, so far north. After enjoying the moment and taking some pictures, just one final act remained—a swim in the water! Candi was happy to stay on land and snap the pictures as I had a short, and I mean very short, swim in the Arctic.
A quick dry off, turn up the heat in the car, and it was time to head south.
Editor's note: Upon receiving news of their son Zach's passing, the Junkins flew home Sunday night.