From Vancouver to the Yukon: A Winter Adventure Guide
Canada expert Joanne Moores takes us on a journey from the coastal delights of British Columbia and Vancouver to the deep, quiet wilds of the Yukon, where the promise of adventure and the northern lights shape each day. Along the way, discover hidden neighbourhood cafés, remote lakeside cabins, and the soft hush of snowshoe trails beneath towering pines. This is a guide for those who want to experience Canada’s winter beyond the ski slopes, embracing its cities, culture, and the beauty of the unspoilt north.
I slipped into the heated outdoor pool at The Fairmont Waterfront bright and early, steam rising against the ink-black sky. In February, the city lights still flicker long into the pre-dawn hours and from the water you can trace the glow of the port cranes along Burrard Inlet as morning slowly reveals Vancouver’s skyline.
By midday, we are on a minibus heading to Vancouver Aquarium in Stanley Park. Strictly for pedestrians and cyclists, a worthwhile alternative is the harbour wall, part of a 17-mile pathway. An easy trek, it folds the best of the city into a single stretch, with yachts, seaplanes, port cranes, and mountains coming into view.
Nestled among the trees, the aquarium is Canada’s largest and most respected marine research centre. Sea otters tumble and twist, seemingly performing for the visitors, while massive sea lions bark and shift in their pools. It’s a reminder of how close this city sits to the wild and how carefully it preserves that connection.
From City Streets to Forest Trails
Crossing the Lions Gate Bridge, you feel the shift from urban pulse to raw nature in minutes, the route connecting downtown Vancouver to the North Shore, an area known for its rugged terrain, forests, and outdoor recreation. We found ourselves at Capilano Suspension Bridge Park, the cedar canopy towering overhead. In winter, the park is lit with thousands of tiny lights, threaded along the pathways and tree trunks, turning the forest into a glowing maze.
Walking across the 450 foot long suspension bridge, you catch glimpses of mossy cliffs and the Capilano River below. The treetop walkways sway gently underfoot, adding a small thrill to the adventure.
Higher still, Grouse Mountain rises above, a snowy playground less than fifteen minutes from downtown. The Skyride whisks you to the top, the city falling away as the forests thicken beneath. Up here, Vancouver’s mild coastal weather transforms, the air biting at your cheeks. Families ice skate under strings of lights, sleds carve quiet tracks down gentle slopes, and there are skiers too. A bonus for those who want to shred the terrain, everything can be hired on the spot.
As darkness comes early at this time of year, around 4pm, the “Light Walk”, which transforms the forest into an illuminated path, is a lovely way to spend the evening, the city twinkling far below. And, if you are looking to celebrate a special occasion, try the fine dining observation restaurant, a popular place for proposals.
Neighbourhood Charm and Vancouver’s Food Scene
There are 22 neighbourhoods to explore in Vancouver, and we made our way to Gastown, the city’s oldest. Driving through, its cobbled streets and historic old brick facades sit comfortably alongside modern boutiques and coffee shops. Close by, the seawall circles the city’s edges, leading past beaches simply named First, Second, and Third.
The city’s food scene is as enticing as its scenery. In Yaletown, we found ourselves at a Japanese restaurant, Minami, where plates arrived as small works of art. If you’re not a sushi enthusiast, there’s a huge assortment of dishes, each one keeping the table talking long after the last plate is cleared. Once a warehouse district and now a sleek, modern hub, Yaletown’s converted brick buildings house many more upscale eateries, along with boutique gyms, trendy bars, and sky-high glass condos; a stark contrast to the grittier and more bohemian vibe of Gastown.
Sky High Views and Market Strolls
The Fairmont Waterfront is well positioned, a short stroll along the harbour leading to FlyOver Canada. A big-screen attraction, you simply sit back while being swept across the country’s mountains, fjords, and forests in a few minutes of high-definition immersion. It’s a surprisingly moving experience and a fascinating introduction to Western Canada, especially if you’re planning to do a fly drive across the Rockies.
Also on the waterfront is Harbour Air’s terminal. The real deal, we were soon gliding over the city in a small seaplane, the skyline reflected in the water as we flew over Stanley Park’s green canopy and out toward the Gulf Islands. A quick flight, it leaves a lasting impression of Vancouver’s unique geography—sea, city, and mountains stacked so neatly together.
Before leaving, Granville Island brought us into Vancouver’s artisan hub. A quieter alternative to staying downtown, the district is alive with working artist studios, bakeries spilling the scent of fresh bread onto the walkways, and buskers playing in every corner. It’s an easy place to lose track of time, browsing the market stalls for local cheese, chocolates, and bright displays of flowers, found even in winter. If time allows, try a guided tasting walk and savour the island’s stories through local flavours.
First Impressions of Whitehorse in Winter
You don’t come to Whitehorse in February expecting subtlety. The landscape of the Yukon’s capital city doesn’t so much greet you as engulf you. Stepping off the plane, the cold wraps around you with absolute certainty, no wind, just still, frozen air. The sky is low, the horizon edged with spruce trees and mountains in muted blues. It’s beautiful in the way only winter in the north can be.
From the airport, it’s barely 20 minutes to the Raven Inn, which sits on the edge of town. When we arrive, we each receive a holdall filled with near-new kit—proper duck-down jackets, thick mitts, snow pants and insulated boots.
The sky stays stubbornly overcast, but tonight we’re chasing the aurora anyway. Around 10pm, wrapped in full gear, we drive about 25 minutes from Whitehorse to a quiet forest clearing. There’s no traffic, no noise, no light, just snow underfoot and a scattering of log cabins. Inside, it’s all wooden beams, hot chocolate, and the low murmur of anticipation. Outside, firepits crackle and smoke rises, curling into the cold mountain air.
Our guide tells stories rooted in First Nations lore—about their people and about the dancing spirits of the sky—and we wait. Sadly, tonight, the lights don’t come. But it doesn’t feel like time wasted. The snowflakes catch the firelight, and the silence is, in its own way, spectacular.
Private Aurora Viewing: The Northern Lights Resort
Morning breaks with the promise of fresh snowfall and a different kind of northern experience. About ten minutes outside Whitehorse, the Northern Lights Resort & Spa appears through the trees. Low wooden cabins are nestled in the snow. The main lodge stands at the centre, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows that look across the open land toward the mountains beyond.
Set a short walk from the lodge, the cabins are spaced out enough to feel private but close enough to share the moment if the aurora does appear. You can lie in bed and look up through glass ceilings, which, on a clear night, must be extraordinary.
Southern Lakes Resort: A Remote Yukon Retreat
Flying over the Yukon in February, the landscape looks frozen in time, lakes locked beneath thick ice, forests standing silent and dark beneath a pale winter sky.
After a short 25 minute ride, our small plane touched down on the frozen surface of Tagish Lake, the heart of Southern Lakes Resort. The landing strip, a cleared stretch of ice 11 inches thick, gleamed under the late-morning sun, surrounded by snow-heavy pines and the rugged peak of the Yukon’s Caribou Mountain.
A scattering of wooden cabins face the frozen lake, each with steps cleared of snow and balconies that look out to a horizon that feels impossibly wide. The air is pin-drop silent apart from the crunch of snow under boots, and the cold is the kind that makes every breath visible. There’s a simplicity here that feels welcome; there’s no WIFI to check, no screens demanding your attention, just the pale light reflecting off the snow and the warmth of the main lodge waiting across the clearing.
Snowshoeing Across Frozen Lakes and Forests
Snowshoeing begins as a shuffle but quickly becomes a steady rhythm, as we pass through woods heavy with fresh flakes. The trail winds through dense spruce and pine forests and opens to views of the lake’s frozen expanse, its surface dusted with powder.
Walking out onto the frozen lake feels both exhilarating and grounding, a reminder of the living landscape beneath the Yukon’s vast, silent surface. Part of the traditional territory of the Carcross/Tagish First Nation, the land stretches untouched to the horizon, a world that has remained unchanged for generations.
Dog Sledding Through The Yukon’s Winter Wilderness
Dog sledding with the Tagish Wilderness Kennels felt like stepping into the heart of the Yukon. The kennel, run by Michelle Philips, a Yukon Quest champion, housed dozens of eager huskies, the dogs barking in excitement, leaping and twisting, tails wagging furiously as they are harnessed to the sled. They calm instantly when the musher calls “line oh”, poised and ready, muscles tense as they wait for the command.
I sat in the padded passenger seat, a second sleigh behind for another guest to try mushing. With an “up up”, we surged forward, gliding through forests and open meadows. The dogs’ rhythm, the crisp air, and the vast white landscape—part of the Yukon’s 186,000 square miles of wilderness—unfolded around us.
Snowmobiling Adventures and Chasing the Lights
Snowmobiling is a different kind of thrill, the machines heavy beneath you but responsive, the handlebar heaters a small luxury as you pick up speed. The trails lead through forests and across frozen marshes, the backdrop shifting between wide-open sky and mountains that stand like silent sentinels over the land. At these temperatures, removing gloves for a photo is a short lived affair, the cold rushing in instantly, but the views demand it, the sunlight bouncing off the snow under a sky that remains impossibly blue.
On the same evening, the optimism of clear skies has everyone quietly hoping for the lights. Conversations are paused to glance outside, curtains left open in the cabins just in case a green flicker appears in the darkness. But thwarted again, the aurora remains elusive, the clouds rolling in.
Wildlife Encounters and Hot Springs
Returning to Whitehorse feels like stepping back into a small city that wears its wilderness on its sleeve. Snow piles against the buildings, the Yukon River sits half-frozen, the surface a patchwork of shifting ice and dark water reflecting a sky that doesn’t fully brighten until late morning. The streets are quiet, but there’s a quiet energy here, the kind that comes from a community that lives alongside winter rather than in spite of it.
North of town, the Yukon Wildlife Preserve offers a window into this territory’s untamed residents. The landscape rolls between tall pines and open fields, where herds of native elk and caribou reside. A guided bus tour takes us around the park, stopping to point out bison, lynx, and foxes. It feels closer to a safari than a zoo. The animals roam in enclosures that mirror the wild as closely as possible, and there is minimal human interference; even the feeding troughs are filled from huts to avoid footprints.
A further short drive takes us to one of our final destinations, Eclipse Nordic Hot Springs. Lying just outside of the city, Yukon’s only hot springs were redeveloped in 2021 from the historic Takhini Hot Springs. Welcoming 50,000 visitors last year, the springs bubble up naturally at a warm 38°C, lightly chlorinated for cleanliness. A cold plunge tub and saunas are included in the entry fee, and snow rolling tempts braver souls, the surrounding boreal forest framing the pools.
On our last night, we stepped back into the cold once more, chasing the promise of the northern lights yet again. Our window is between 11 and half-past midnight, so we wrap up in layers and head out of town, away from streetlights, to a spot where the sky opens up.
It’s clear, the stars sharp, the constellations etched above us in a way that makes you want to study them more closely. The camera captures what the eye can only just see at first—a green glow, faint, growing. Over an hour later, the colour deepens, the shapes shifting in slow waves across the darkness, a quiet dance that feels both intimate and grand. Then snow begins to fall, drawing a soft curtain across the sky, closing the show for the night. The lights have eluded us once again.
Lessons from the Yukon
Whitehorse itself is compact and functional, a working town rather than a polished tourist hub and that’s part of its charm. Everything feels close, accessible, and real. The shops aren’t curated to an aesthetic; they serve the locals first, which makes wandering through town feel refreshingly unfiltered. Cafés hum with snow-booted visitors and locals discussing everything from ice road conditions to the best place to catch a glimpse of the lights. It’s a good reminder that you’re in a part of Canada where nature doesn’t sit politely in the background, it defines the rhythm of the place.
There are lessons to be learnt from the Northern Lights too, as you learn to slow down, to wait without expectation. Here, nature decides what happens next, and the the Yukon goes at its own pace. It isn’t in a hurry to change, and that’s exactly why I can’t wait to return.
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