WE WERE HALFWAY through our 10,000-mile road trip when my fiancé, Trevor, decided it was time for an adventure.

Our plan was to drive from San Diego to Alaska, where we would spend the summer camping, sea-kayaking, surfing and riding mountain bikes. After weeks on the road we found ourselves in Whitehorse, the capital of Canada’s Yukon territory, which borders Alaska to the west. A hub for adventure travel on the banks of the Yukon River, Whitehorse seemed like a natural place to take a break from the road and explore.

Among our assortment of gear were two Hobie inflatable stand-up paddle boards. “We’ve always talked about taking our paddle boards on a river trip,” Trevor said, as we looked out over the smooth and swiftly flowing surface of the water. “The Yukon River is perfect.”

Trevor had paddled the Yukon 10 years prior in a canoe, but the plan to paddle 200 miles in eight days on stand-up paddle boards completely on our own made me nervous, especially after several locals asked us to let them know if we made it. River guides told us the trip was possible, and that our biggest challenge wouldn’t be our vessels or rapids but Lake Laberge: Thirty-one miles long, frigid and prone to sudden winds and waves, the lake is so perilous that many canoe paddlers charter a flight over.

Setting up camp Photo: Trevor Clark

Before I knew it we were practicing self-rescue techniques in nearby lakes, buying bear-proof food canisters and stuffing our dry bags with clothes, sleeping bags, a tent, cook stove, water filters and a machete. Our expedition would take us from Whitehorse to the village of Carmacks, where we arranged for a shuttle to pick us up. We cinched tie-down straps tight to secure our gear and pushed off from Whitehorse with our fully loaded boards, our connection to cellphones, email and social media severed with that first paddle stroke.

City noise faded into the sounds of gurgling water and chirping birds. We paddled gently, but the current did most of the work, carrying us along at about 6 miles an hour, like a 300-yard-wide emerald-green conveyor belt, past riverbanks covered in lodgepole pine, black spruce and aspen trees.

Within a few hours, we’d glided well away from civilization and settled in to the paddling. Our legs and arms began to tire, but the fresh mountain air was invigorating and kept us going. The temperature, about 60 degrees, was perfect for the paddle, and we were comfortable wearing base-layer leggings, a wool top and our life vests, which gave plenty of insulation. I scanned the shoreline for moose to distract me from the fear of falling off my board.

After traveling about 15 miles from Whitehorse, we set up camp for the night on a small island that seemed to be inhabited only by hungry mosquitoes. We quickly cooked a dinner of macaroni-and-cheese with fresh veggies on our camp stove and were asleep in our tent by 10 p.m., the summer sun still hanging low in the sky.

Preparing breakfast on the river bank Photo: Trevor Clark

When we set off early the next morning, the current had slowed and the water felt heavy against our paddles. Before long, the river widened and Lake Laberge stretched out to the north before us, as far as we could see. My heart sank.

Within 10 minutes of entering the lake, we felt the wind howling out of the southwest, kicking up whitecaps and threatening to crash us into the rocks along the shore. “Trevor!” I yelled over the gusts, “How are we going to paddle this with so much wind?” He replied with only a shrug, as if he weren’t worried at all. But after nearly an hour of frantic paddling with icy waves crashing over our boards and having made almost no progress, I lost hope that we would make it to the other end.

Trevor gestured to me to follow him and we let the wind push us to the eastern shore. “I have a crazy idea, but I think it might work,” he shouted. “Just follow my lead and trust me on this one.”

We turned our boards around and paddled into the wind as hard as we could until we reached the center of the lake. There, we tied the boards together and strung a tarp between each of our paddle handles to act as a sail. Instantly, the wind filled the tarp and pulled us forward as we strained to hold our paddle-masts upright. Using an extra paddle as a rudder, we were able to sail our contraption northwest along that beast of a lake.

“Wahoo!” Trevor shouted, as we cruised at what felt like a few miles an hour, seated on our boards. I looked over and gave him a huge high-five and my first smile since we’d entered the lake. For the next eight hours we sailed through the middle of Lake Laberge, passing a bottle of whiskey back and forth between us and hanging on for dear life.

At 10 p.m., exhausted but grateful to be alive, we took down our sail, separated our boards and paddled to shore. A large boulder created a barrier from the wind and a perfect spot for a campfire and cooking.

At around midnight, as the last rays of sun dipped below the horizon, I was on the riverbank and saw something out of the corner my eye. When I turned my head to look, I saw a scraggly, medium-size black bear perched on its hind legs, about 30 feet from where I was sitting. It was sniffing in all directions and then seemed to be gazing just past me in the dim dusk light. I scrambled for my bear spray, which I’d always had at the ready until that moment. The adrenaline coursing through me fogged my mind and I couldn’t remember where I’d left it.

The remains of the sternwheeler S. S. Evelyn on Shipyard Island Photo: Trevor Clark

Just then the bear seemed to catch the scent of our dinner, which it followed uphill. It did a lap around our tent before disappearing into the woods. Neither Trevor nor I slept a wink that night.

By day four, after we’d spent another 10 hours riding our jury-rigged sailboat and camped another night, Lake Laberge was behind us. As I stood again on my board, my back muscles felt thoroughly used but in a good way. My arms, shoulders and hands were accustomed to the paddle. Each stroke was natural and rhythmic, propelling me through the swirling water and past the remains of old Mounted Police posts, trading posts and wood camps dating to the late 1800s, and the remains of the S.S. Evelyn, a sternwheeler that plied the river in the early 20th century.

After six days of paddling, we reached the Teslin River, where the banks widened and the current slowed. Sore and tired, we tied our boards together, lay down and just drifted through a stretch of blackened landscape, where bright purple fireweed bloomed from the char of old forest fires.

I wanted to slow the flow of the water: I’d never experienced anything like the beauty of the Yukon River and the sense of leaving the world behind that I felt in that wilderness. I wanted to make our time there last.

On our final evening on the river, we ate what was left of our provisions: couscous and dried veggies. Maybe it was because I’d just spent a week connecting with nature, with myself and with my fiancé, but that was one of the best meals I’ve ever had.

The trip cast a spell on me. I was grateful to be alive, to have the clarity to appreciate the simple things. Even now, I carry the memory of our time on the Yukon River with me, as a reminder to slow down and let the current take me.

The author and her fiancé on their paddleboard sailing rig Photo: Trevor Clark

The Lowdown // ExplorIng Yukon and Beyond

Getting There: Most major U.S. airlines fly to Vancouver, Canada. From there you can get a connecting flight to Whitehorse, Yukon’s capital city, on Air North or Air Canada, which offer daily round-trip service. Connecting service is available on United, which is an Air Canada partner.

Staying There: Boréale Ranch is a modern adventure lodge 30 miles outside of Whitehorse, known for its fresh local cuisine (from about $130 a night including breakfast, borealebiking.ca). Yurts, wall tents or lodge rooms are available. In Whitehorse, riverside campsites can be reserved at Robert Service Campground; hot showers and a coffee bar are provided on-site (from about $15 per night, robertservicecampground.com).

Eating There: A taste of Yukon fare and local hospitality can be found at Klondike Rib and Salmon in Whitehorse, specializing in Far North favorites such as fresh fish, smoked meats and wild game (klondikerib.com). Baked Café and Bakery offers meat, vegetarian and vegan options, fresh baked goods and great coffee and espresso (bakedcafe.ca).

River Outfitters: Kanoe People offers guided kayak and canoe trips down the Yukon River as well as canoe and kayak rentals (canoes about $30, single kayaks about $35 per day; kanoepeople.com). SUP Yukon offers lessons, guided tours and rentals (rentals are about $35 per day including paddle and life vest, supyukon.ca).