We tried to get across the Twitya River for five days. Five days of rain. Five days of swollen water. Five days of frustration.
We found ourselves on the banks of the Twitya River, rain coming down, a stiff cold wind on our backs, the quads parked on a gangly looking bundle of sticks we were calling a ‘raft,’ surrounded by a blue inflatable donut.
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We tried to get across the Twitya River for five days. Five days of rain. Five days of swollen water. Five days of frustration.
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We found ourselves on the banks of the Twitya River, rain coming down, a stiff cold wind on our backs, the quads parked on a gangly looking bundle of sticks we were calling a ‘raft,’ surrounded by a blue inflatable donut.
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It took us a week to finally find the banks of the Twitya River, but with all the breakdowns, hang-ups and dead ends along the way, it seemed so much longer.
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Shortly after repairing my trailer we had an unprecedented host of bad luck.
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As we rolled down into the Twitya River Valley, the trip nearly came to an abrupt and final end.
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The trailers broke. They broke bad. The metal ribs that held box to axel snapped clean off Jim’s trailer. In nearly the same place, on my trailer, the welds broke free.
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High in the Mackenzie Mountains, we spent two nights in the same camp. It was a hard, but necessary, decision to make.
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Day two of our quad travel and we crossed over the territorial border, from the Yukon into the Northwest Territories.
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With the bridge down, this would be the start of our adventure. We’d have to get across the creek on our quads, then push through the final 40 miles of broken road.
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