We passed through the Yukon on our way north to Alaska, and it was here that I first felt I had entered a landscape completely outside the kind of country I knew. Even the trees told me I was somewhere different. The black spruce were small and spindly, their growth limited by the permafrost, yet some were far older than their size would suggest.

There was a sense of discovery to traveling through the Yukon. The road stretched ahead through an increasingly unfamiliar landscape, and I found myself constantly wondering what would appear around the next bend. I couldn’t wait to turn the next corner.

That feeling—of moving farther north and into something entirely new—is what I remember most.

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