And the clouds parted

There is, I was told before coming here, a local tradition of heading up to the top of Dome Mountain on solstice to watch the sun not set. Over dinner the night before Michael informed me that much of the population of the event consisted of Quebecois kids with bongos and quilted cords.

During my 6 years in Kelowna a few things were irrevocably tainted for me: Rollerblades, Spuds McKenzie work-out pants and Bongos. With this caution over local bongo density I was a little reluctant to head up The Dome especially as the day was thoroughly clouded over and intermittently rainy. As with all things celebratory in Dawson, solstice means drinks, so assembling with a cluster of KIAC related folk we sat, sipped and pondered the likelihood of heading up.

After working our way through rounds of vodka-sodas, pints of Yukon Gold, low-grade red wine, G&Ts, Jameson's and Warsteiner shandies we wandered onto the street straight around 1am and into view of the solstice rainbow. After spending a good chunk of my time here in something akin to a bunker mentality, pondering the land and isolation, it was (not ironic but) affirming to stumble upon a Sanford Gifford painting in the middle of a muddy street with a small group of very nice folk.

From this point forward the skies continued to offer truly melodramatic displays of transcendental possibilities. Pretty awesome down in town these moments of radiance would have been something to behold for the top of the mountain. Unfortunately, the chorus of Bongos would have most-likely altered the frequency of the light waves emanating down from the far north and likely ruined the display.