When I first arrived in Whitehorse, it was January 13th, 2012. Twenty-four hours earlier, I was in Laos, enjoying +30°C sunshine… and suddenly I was stepping off a plane into -30°C in the middle of the Yukon winter. Quite the extremes! Luckily, Max was waiting for me at the airport with a pair of handmade beaver fur mittens — a beautiful, practical, and absolutely indispensable gift.
On the flight in with Air North (still my favourite airline to travel to the Yukon), I remember staring out the window and seeing… nothing. Just darkness for almost the entire 2.5-hour flight. No lights, no towns, no signs of human life. Even the northern lights didn’t show up that day. Only during the last few minutes of the descent did tiny dots of light appear below, hinting at the quiet remoteness of this northern place. I had no idea what I was stepping into, but I already knew it was far from anything I had ever experienced.
The reality of a Yukon winter
The first shock was, of course, the temperature. Not just “winter cold”, but the kind of cold that freezes your nostril hairs the second you step outside. At first, it was overwhelming. I quickly learned that if you want to enjoy winter in the Yukon — not just survive it — you need the right wardrobe. Layers are key, and you don’t dress the same way for watching the northern lights as you do for skiing or kicksledding. Even after more than ten years here, I still sometimes overdress or underdress… maybe one day I’ll master it!
Then comes the darkness. In December and January, the sun barely rises above the horizon, offering only a few precious hours of daylight. The lack of sunlight can affect your mood more than you expect. Many Yukoners start doubling their Vitamin D supplements as early as October. Those little strategies matter — they help you stay motivated to step outside, breathe the crisp air, and catch those rare, golden sunrays. And you want to catch them, because the winter light here is pure magic.
Finding beauty in the darkness
Over the years, I’ve learned to cherish these fleeting moments of sun. Winter light in the Yukon is unlike anywhere else: soft pinks, pastel blues, and long shadows stretching across frozen rivers and snow-covered forests. Every short walk becomes a photography session — it’s like walking through a permanent sunrise.
And then there’s the aurora. While my first flight didn’t offer any northern lights, living in Whitehorse means that on clear nights, the sky can suddenly erupt in green, purple, and pink. When the aurora dances above a snowy landscape, the world feels alive, vibrant, and full of motion — a perfect counterbalance to the long, still nights.
January in the Yukon is challenging, yes. But it’s unforgettable.
The cold tests your limits, the darkness challenges your spirit, and the light — brief and fragile — reminds you why the Yukon captures so many hearts. For me, winter has become a season of small rituals: hot tea before sunrise, stepping outside even for five minutes of daylight, noticing beauty where others might see only hardship.
Frozen rivers glowing under pastel skies, the silence of snow-covered forests, the aurora sweeping overhead — these are the moments that stay with you long after winter ends.
If you ever find yourself in the Yukon during the coldest months, my advice is simple: dress warmly, get outside every day, and embrace the extremes. The days are short, the cold is very real… but the beauty? The beauty is unlike anywhere else in the world.
