Three Short Stories Through Three Photos

Another summer has come and gone, leaving me with a body that’s sore and a heart filled to the brim with gratitude. This year was especially meaningful as it marked the official “soft launch” of my guiding company, Yukon Alpine Adventures. With a mix of friends old and new, family, and one real, full-paying guest, I managed to run four unique trips that I had been researching and developing for nearly two years.

There’s so much to share that I could easily fill multiple blog posts, but for now, I want to tell three short stories through three pictures. While every moment this summer was memorable, these three moments capture the essence of the nearly 40 nights I spent in a tent since May.

It was a crisp, beautiful morning as we left our alpine camp. We hadn’t walked five minutes when I spotted movement a few hundred meters away.

“Bear!” I exclaimed.

Through my monocular, I saw a beautiful brown grizzly grazing on some plants. Another movement caught my eye, and soon I was looking at two cubs alongside a massive blond mother bear. Within moments, they caught our scent and turned to stare at us—a long-distance, almost cinematic standoff.

Nothing gets the heart racing quite like locking eyes with these majestic, immensely powerful animals. Faster than a horse and as strong as a backhoe, they make you feel both small and deeply vulnerable. This was my fifth bear encounter of the season, and it was fascinating to see how each one had reacted the same way: sprinting as far from us as possible.

We watched as the three bears disappeared down the valley, covering over 5 kilometers in less than 15 minutes through dense, bushy shrubs. It was awe-inspiring to witness these masters of the alpine.

Guiding and running trips takes a lot of work. Even with friends, it can be hard to fully appreciate the surroundings with a mind constantly thinking about logistics, route options, water sources, and cooking dinner.

Whenever I can, I try to take photos on the trail. They allow me to revisit these places with a clear mind, reminding me of the incredible landscapes I’m lucky to see with some amazing folks.

After returning from a trip in Kusawa Territorial Park last July, I was importing photos into my computer when one image instantly caught my eye. Somehow, without planning, I’d taken one of my best shots of the season. The colors were vibrant, the composition was perfect, and the landscape was otherworldly. Skill? Maybe a bit. Luck? Most definitely, 100%.

I love this photo because its vibrancy reflects how well that trip went—great weather, interesting wildlife, and some of my favorite people.

Of all the animals I encounter in the Yukon, the caribou is my favorite. Its sheer determination in harsh mountain conditions, elegant and effortless gait, beautiful antlers, and expressive sounds—something about the caribou embodies the magic and power of these lands.

After two days of tough weather in Asi Keyi, with over 20 cm of snow, collapsing tents, and cold, rainy misery, the sun finally appeared as we began our ascent to the alpine plateau. Hiking to the snow line, we looked up at the ridgeline to see the perfect silhouettes of a cow and calf grazing at the cliff's edge. Two sets of tracks climbed straight up the mountainside, leading to the caribou. I could hardly believe these animals could waltz up the side of a cliff that I wouldn’t even attempt.

As we reached the top, my jaw dropped. A herd of 30+ caribou was grazing through holes in the snow. I’d never seen so many caribou at once, and it was one of the summer’s most special moments.

S.E. Asia Part 4: Loy Krathong

In the dark, warm night, we trudged under the weight of our 40lbs packs. We’d just spent four hours ripping down the highway in the back of a songthaew (essentially a taxi pickup truck) after missing our bus to Chiang Rai and had gotten dropped off downtown, four kilometres away from our hotel. It had been a rough, bumpy drive and I was grumpy, hungry and tired.

As we followed the road towards our lodgings, the streets slowly emptied and the vendors, shops and people made way for sporadic traffic and discontinuous sidewalks. “Great…” I thought, “We’re going to get to the middle of nowhere and there’s going to be nothing to eat nearby”. With sore feet and stiff backs, we rounded a bend in the road when suddenly, a cacophonous explosion of light and people burst out in front of us.

In our tired state, it was hard to understand exactly what we were looking at. Tall 10m structures covered in neon lights towered on each side of a road jam-packed with food stands and people. It seemed like thousands upon thousands of people had appeared out of nowhere, all heading down a side road towards what seemed to be some kind of fairground. As we got closer, the visceral thumps of competing music stages lay down a soundtrack to this unexpected festival scene.

“This looks awesome!” Emma exclaimed. While I was still pretty grumpy, the sight and smells of innumerable food trucks made it impossible to disagree. Our hotel was thankfully only 10 minutes away so we rushed over, dropped our bags and started back towards this mysterious party.

We approached the entrance to the festival with a mix of excitement and trepidation. BANG! An explosive crack ripped through the air making us both jump. BANG BANG! More detonations punctuated the din of the festivities. We spun around looking for the source of the noise to see a group of youths casually lighting firecrackers and tossing them in all directions. Towards the festival grounds, Roman candles crackled and erupted towards the ski. Every 45 seconds, it seemed like someone was blowing something up.

It’s hard to accurately describe what the next few hours were like. Wandering the festival felt like entering a different world. The grounds were intensely packed with people who filled the available space between a bizarre array of food stands selling everything from live eels in ziplock bags to fried octopus on a stick. Hot cooking stoves fueled by rusty propane tanks cooked up meals inches away from the crowd and with the incessant sound of DIY fireworks overhead, I couldn’t help but think we were walking through a giant bomb, one drunk misstep away from going off. 

Chiang Rai’s surreal/weird White Temple.

This was the annual festival of Loy Krathong. Loy Krathong translates to "float ritual vessel or lamp”, and celebrates the Goddess of Water. The krathongs are decorative, floating baskets lit with candles and sent down the river as offerings to the Goddess. Throughout the evening, people would walk down to the river that flowed along the fairgrounds and send off krathongs into the night. It was a beautiful sight to see these lit vessels of good intentions slowly flow toward the Mekong River.

We got back to our hotel, exhausted, and flopped down onto our fancy beds. Tired but happy to have experienced this unique event, we went to sleep to the sounds of far-away fireworks hurtling through the ski.


This marked our last few days in Thailand before going into Laos and we couldn't have asked for a better sendoff. Next stop, Huay Xai.

S.E. Asia Part 3: The House of Apis Dorsata

I reached up to another hold on the steep rock face. I had left the shade lower down and was now fully exposed to the brutal sun. Sweat poured down my face and into my eyes, stinging and making it difficult to see. The rock, baked in the sun, was almost too hot to touch. I only had a few more meters of climbing before reaching the anchor when suddenly Emma called up from below.

“Do you hear that? What’s going on up there?” 

I broke from my intense focus and noticed a low, buzzing hum that was quickly getting louder. It sounded like a big fan that was getting closer by the second. That’s when it dawned on me. Bees.

I frantically started looking around and saw a cloud of bees about 15m away coming straight at me. Thousands upon thousands of giant Asian honey bees, Apis Dorsata, had left their nest and were swarming my way. I jumped off the rock and yelled down

“Down down down down!!! Lower me as fast as possible NOW!”

Zipping down the wall at breakneck speed, I landed beside Emma and desperately untied my knot to detach myself from the cliff while staring at the bees above us. Back on the ground, it didn’t seem like the bees had followed me and for now anyway, we felt safe’ish (emphasize on the “ish”). Above us, with a terrifying, surreal noise, the bees kept buzzing along until the swarm was out of sight.

Halfway through our trip, we had arrived in the Mae On district of the northern Thai province of Chiang Mai. A friend back home had given us a tip that the climbing here was quiet but spectacular. The crag was located in the countryside where huge, limestone walls lay hidden throughout the jungle of a nearby hill, the Crazy Horse Buttress.

Our stay in Mae On was simply perfect. A short scooter ride would bring us to the crag where we’d climb rocks and explore caves all day. When the sun set, we would drive by the evening market to share fresh fruit, papaya salad, sticky rice and some kind of delicious local dish. Another 2 minute ride would bring us home to wind down on our room’s deck with a bottle of Chang soda water, listening to the sounds of the jungle around us.

The climbing was like nothing I had experienced before. The first thing that grabbed your attention was the amazing textures, shapes, and construction of the rock. The wall was plastered with an infinite number of unique holds from tiny, fossilized remnants to perfectly formed rock handles big enough to swallow your arm. Immense stalactites seemed to grow out in all directions and would ring out like cast iron bells when climbed on.

The next thing you quickly realized is that these cliffs were teeming with life. Every nook and cranny contained something alive and it was wise to peer into a hole before putting your hand in it. Industrial ant trains crisscrossed the wall looking for food, giant venomous centipedes hid from the sun in rock pockets, and meter long snake skins hung like drapes off key holds you needed to grab. My favorite critters were the stingless bees, Trigona Collina. They would emerge from their small narrow, tubelike hives and, attracted to our sweat, would land on you to lick it up. There was no escaping from these harmless little buddies but it did take some practice to not constantly swat them away. Then, there was Apis Dorsata.

Apis Dorsata, or the giant honey bee, liked to live in gigantic hives under rock roofs and overhangs. Unlike other bees, they would shield the hive by forming a dense mass of bees that completely encased a single, beach ball sized comb. Get too close, and the bees would shimmer their torso in synchronicity, creating a wavelike ripple effect. Unlike the friendly Trigona, these bees were extremely defensive and wouldn’t think twice about mangling your day.

Apis Dorsata hives under the rock roof.

But it wasn’t just the rock above ground that blew us away. After a week of climbing, we donned headlamps, crawled through a tight squeeze in the rock, and discovered a wealth of climbing underground! We spent two days exploring absolutely mind bending crags in the biggest caves I had ever seen, culminating with a 150ft long multipitch climb in a subterranean chamber big enough to hold an apartment building.

Inevitably, we did have to move on and leave Mae On. Climbing into the back of a pickup truck, we bumped along for 4 hours towards the border for the final leg of our adventure, Laos. But Thailand had one more surprise for us and before we could leave, we were going to experience Loy Krathong.