I woke up before my alarm went off, my body buzzing with energy. Stepping down from the little bed in the guest room of my chosen B&B, I moved to push open the curtains of the large window at the far side of the room. Outside, the world was a soft gray, the sun had another hour before it would truly rise.

It was 8:40 AM. 

Closing the curtains once more, I changed into my favorite Icelandic wool sweater and a pair of Levi’s “Wedgie” jeans. Fully clothed, I re-opened the curtains and spent a few moments sitting on the couch in my room, taking in the view. 

Across the street was a little brown house with a colorful fish sitting between little white-framed windows. Soft smoke rose from its chimney and into the cloudy sky. On either side of the house, I could see out across the flat snow-covered lake to the trees that stood on the other shore. 

Today, I would attempt to cross that lake to find the Back Bay Ice Caves.

At around 9:05 AM, I ventured upstairs where the B&B owner was waiting. He cooked some eggs and toast and poured me a cup of coffee. I was glad that the upstairs living area had floor-to-ceiling glass windows. I sipped my coffee and took bites of my eggs and toast as I watched the world wake up outside. 

The snow on the mountains brightened into a rosy pink glowing edges around the tips of the trees.

While I ate, the B&B owner gave me some tips for finding the ice caves, which was my main goal for this day. He mentioned more than a few times to be careful. It was cold and could be slippery on the lake. I don’t think he trusted that I was prepared for the -26ºC (-15ºF) weather. He was probably right in his assumption.

His advice was to walk out across the lake because the path to the caves could be found directly across from us on the other side. He said that “Google Maps was good. It has the way.”

Finding the trail to the Back Bay Ice Caves

Staring out at the frozen body of water in front of me, I felt doubts creep in.

I’d seen pictures online of people walking across its surface, but today, I saw no one, just an endless expanse of white. I don’t have much experience with frozen lakes, and movie references flashed in my mind of ice breaking and people falling into freezing water.

Looking on Google Maps, I saw that it suggested I take a 40-minute walk through the city instead. For a moment, I continued to debate, hypothesizing that Google might think the lake was still liquid and impossible to walk across since I wasn’t some biblical miracle worker.

Before I could set out, I had to bundle up further. Here is everything that I wore and everything that I brought with me.

On top:

• One tight-fitted base layer

• One slightly looser base layer

• One Icelandic wool sweater

• One fleece pullover

• One waterproof, insulated winter jacked

On bottom:

• One pair of fleece-lined leggings

• One base layer

• One pair of insulated 66 North Polar Laki pants

On my head:

• One face gator 

• One beanie (or toque)

On my hands:

• One pair of inner gloves

• One pair of insulated snow gloves

On my feet:

• Two pairs of wool socks

• Waterproof Merrell hiking boots

In my day pack I had…

• One filled water bottle

• One portable battery and phone charger

• One electric hand warmer

• Multiple non-electric hand and toe warmers

• My Spectacles

• Some granola with dark chocolate (quick burn energy)

• My wallet

• My passport

• The keys to the B&B

Pulling on my boots in the front hall, I was excited to take off. I opened the door and locked it behind me. Then I walked down the sidewalk toward the right. I was pretty sure that it was the direction the B&B owner had pointed me in. I was hoping it would direct me to an access point for the lake.

I passed by a mother trying to get her older toddler to stay put as she buckled her younger toddler into a stroller. This, of course, was not an easy task because not only was she dealing with two toddlers, but each of them (herself included) was bundled to look like the Michelin Man. 

Walking past her, I quickly realized that this path wasn’t leading me anywhere. All of the signs toward the lake said “Private Property.” I turned around and walked back the way I came. Again, I passed the mother and I hoped she didn’t think I was some sort of weirdo. My black face mask didn’t help my look, but I’m pretty sure her thoughts were focused on figuring out how to fit the stroller buckle around a marshmallow-like child. 

I made the executive decision to forgo the lake and follow Google Maps’ directions around and through town. 

With my gator around my face, I plunged forward into the frozen day. With the cold air blowing towards me, it was more like plunging into an ice path than walking through air.  Occasionally, I’d pull out my phone to try to make sure I was traveling in the right direction but quickly tucked it away so that it wouldn’t freeze.

At some point, I must have missed a street and when I next checked Google Maps, I saw that I was on a longer, more round-about way.

Finally, I made it to a hiking trail. This was a good sign. The trail was perfectly groomed, flat, and easy to navigate. I felt a lot more confident as I trotted along this path. I even passed another hiker and allowed myself to be bemused by the fact that he seemed unbothered to be hiking through frozen icy trails.

Winding my way through frosted trees, I came to a bridge that sat dead center between two big expanses of white, flat snow. I smiled when I saw it. It reminded me of my favorite place to run when I was living in Salzburg, Austria.

Crossing it, I walked confidently along the path until I came to a fork. One side continued straight while the other turned off into a more residential area. I stopped. For some reason, I couldn’t remember a turn-off on the map.

Opening my phone, I saw that, sure enough, it wanted me to go into the residential area. 

So I did. 

I wondered if people who were home thought it was strange to see a girl wandering through their neighborhood. Her hair (eyelashes included) frozen, transforming into white tendrils like an ice queen. I was obviously not from around here. But no one said anything and I kept a quick pace. 

When I finally recognized the street name I was supposed to turn on, I stopped. It looked like a normal cul-de-sac. It did not look like the type of place you’d find a trail to some ice caves. I checked my phone again even though my fingers were freezing. 

It was the correct street. I was sure of it. 

An ungroomed trail left me hesitating at the edge

So I walked into the little roundabout. As I toured its edges, I saw a small trail made from multiple footsteps leading off into the trees. 

Oh, god, I thought, this could be really bad.

I hesitated at the edge of the trail. It was more like a path that had been worn down by others who were probably locals or who had a guide leading them. Was it packed down enough? Would I end up stuck in powder?

I’m not one to hike alone. I know the dangers and I also know that I’m not well-equipped enough (mentally and skill-wise) to save myself if something bad happens. Something, for example, like falling into a pile of unpacked snow that I can’t pull myself out of. 

So, I turned around. There had to be another way, right?

I circled and circled but always came back to that foot-trodden path.

This is where the map said to go.

I hesitated as I stared out at what seemed to be an endless expanse of snow-covered forest. It took a lot of internal convincing to walk back to the path, place my boots into those other footsteps, and continue on, praying I wouldn’t sink.

I followed it, and to my immense relief, emerged onto a groomed trail soon enough.

But then…

Google Maps seemed to be directing me up and over a snowy hill. Once again, I saw a stretch of snowy footsteps, carved into the side of the hill. Again, I hesitated.

After a few moments, I decided to give it a try. After all, the first footpath had led me in the right direction. So, I stepped into the first bit of packed-down snow and hiked up. It was a lot more difficult to navigate than the groomed path had been, and there were moments when I sunk into soft powder. Still, I felt that I’d made the right choice until…

Until I reached the top of the hill and saw that no such path had been carved out for me on the other side. I had no idea where to go and it was obvious that those who’d come before me hadn’t either. This was all wrong. 

Back down the hill I went. Stepping carefully, I made my way back to the groomed path. A yellow dog with red booties on barked at me. 

“He’s friendly,” his owner called up to me. 

“I must have surprised him,” I responded. 

“Yes,” she answered, “he’s only used to people coming from there.” She pointed to the groomed trail, “not from up there.”

Further proof that I’d been going the wrong way. 

I walked down the groomed trail until, once again, it broke into a fork. One side continued straight while the other went up and to the left. I stared at the two sides and thought about the direction the caves had been when I was looking at the map. 

I chose the left side and stumbled along down and down until suddenly, I found myself out on the frozen lake. The open white snow stretched out in front of me. I could see little houseboats out in the distance. 

The caves are just off the lake, I thought to myself. The B&B owner had explained that if you walked across the lake, you would come to a sign that showed you where the trail to the caves was. 

So, I started walking along the edge of the lake. In only a couple of minutes, I could already make out the sign just up ahead. 

Arriving at the Back Bay Cemetery and Falls

Sure enough, it was the sign for the historic Back Bay cemetery that also marked the entrance to the Back Bay ice caves. That’s right. It’s also a cemetery, but that didn’t bother me.

Walking up the path, two white picket fences marked the entrance to the cemetery. Little stones and crosses were set up along the path. It wasn’t creepy in the slightest. Instead, it felt welcoming, precious, and beautiful.

I walked through the site, up along a slippery path until I came to a spot that once again featured two trail options. Deciding on the first, I ended up sliding down a slippery foot trail on my ass and stood up a bit surprised about the speed at which I’d slid. I set out to my right. 

It only took a few moments on the trail to realize I’d gone the wrong way. Google maps was telling me that I was in front of the ice caves. I was not. I was surrounded by trees. 99% of the time Google has the answers. 1% of the time you have to figure shit out for yourself. 

So, I turned around and walked the other way. I knew it had to be around there somewhere. 

And sure enough, after only a few paces back toward the first, I saw it. 

The Back Bay Ice Caves

Yellow-white ice dripped in swirling spires from the top of a rock. It was breathtaking and I knew that this was what I had come here for. 

I so want to find the magic that is still left in this world, and here, in Yellowknife, I’d found it. Right in front of me. An enchanting, mesmerizing work of nature. There was energy radiating from it (if you believe in that sort of thing) and I stared at it. 

What’s funny is that I had to consciously tell myself to stop and appreciate it. Although I’d had an initial reaction of awe and wonder, my mind quickly went to okay, take a picture. This was followed by, okay, you’ve seen what you came to see. You got your picture. Now you can head back.

But I didn’t want it to just be that. Just be a fleeting glimpse. A picture for Instagram. I wanted to be in the moment longer. I wanted the full impact of what I was looking at to fall onto me. I wanted to appreciate what I was seeing. For it to be more than just something to check off a bucket list. 

So I took a step back into the woods and stood there quietly. I stared up at the ice caves and took the time to let their strange and mystical beauty sink in. 

It was only after about five or so minutes of this (longer than you think in below 0ºF temperatures) that I was ready to leave. 

I navigated my way back to the lake and started walking back the way I’d come. 

Along the way, I passed a man with his husky. The husky looked like a wolf and sniffed around on the trails. The man smiled at me as I passed. 

I forgot to mention that my eyelashes were frozen and by this time my hands were starting to feel… well, actually, they didn’t feel at all. They’d gone from burning to completely numb. At one point on the way back, I was afraid that my pinky finger would never regain feeling ever again. 

However, I used the trick that our Finnish guide Erikki had taught us and stuck my hand under my armpit. It worked. I also used another trick he taught us which was to elevate my toes out of the snow when they started to go numb as well. 

Still, even with all of the tricks, it was a difficult journey back. I shivered until I could open the door and let myself back into my room where I spent a good five minutes warming my phone so that it could turn back on. 

Then, I sat down to write this out. Now, I’m planning to head to the local brewery for a beer and some food. I’ve never drunk or eaten alone, so wish me luck!