The end of the Klondike

I am currently sitting in my quaint Hooch at Cripple River, typing away next to a brilliantly warm fire that was kindly started by my neighbors. It’s pouring down rain right now, and the boys have hidden themselves away – most likely watching a movie and not inviting me, so I decided to stay in and write. But, as I’ve been in my Hooch for the last 2 hours, my fingers slowly turning to ice, I realized I was going to have to start a fire if I continued to stay in my cabin.

Needless to say, I suck at being a Girl Scout and my 2 attempts at building a tee-pee from kindling and then lighting pieces of paper under said wood, failed. So, I opened my door, look across the dirt road at two men talking on their Hooch porch and pathetically asked, “Anyone know how to start a fire,” my puppy dog eyes doing the rest. Larry and Mike, my new best friends, made a proper tee-pee, set fire to paper cups and switched out my soggy, wet wood for dry timber. Now it’s approaching tank top heat in my cabin, but I’m not complaining. I just need to figure out a way to have people start fires for me every night….hum….how big should my eyes get next time.

Anyhow, I left off in Skagway last blog entry. After all 4 of us, and an equal amount of gear to total our body weights, piled into a Toyota Camry, we arrived in Whitehorse 110 miles later. It was not the most comfortable of rides, and it wasn’t going to be the longest drive of the trip either.

Whitehorse was a stopping point for the rafters cruising down the Yukon to Dawson City. After the Stampeders built their boats at Lake Bennett, they had to sail 500 miles to Dawson, but the first of many dangers was the rapids spread throughout Miles Canyon. These rapids were so deadly that the Canadian Mounties imposed a law that no man could go through them without an experienced guide and all women and children would have to depart at Canyon City and walk the 5 miles around the rapids to Whitehorse before getting back into their boats. Today, the river is dammed a little above the rapids, creasing them to a mere class one of foaming waves.

We stayed in Whitehorse for 2 1/2 days, starting the ½ day filming at the MacBride Museum. They have a lovely exhibit on gold, including several Gold Rush antiques. The next day we went on a highly informative walking tour of the historical buildings of Whitehorse. The tour was lead by a tour guide dressed in period clothing who definitely knew his history. I learned that Sam McGee, from Robert Service’s poem, “The Cremation of Sam McGee”, was a real person who worked at the same bank as Service and Service took a liking to Sam’s name, so he named his poem’s character after him.

You would think this would be a great honor, but at the time, McGee was just a humble man trying to live his life and all these people who had read the poem in the early 1900’s thought he did everything thing from the poem (despite dying and being cremated), so McGee became a egregious celebrity, trying to hide from the limelight and live his life with no such luck. Poor guy. Also, the reason this story came up is because McGee’s house, along with the birth house of Service, are both in Whitehorse.

After the tour, we impromptu shot aboard the S.S. Klondike, a very cool Sternwheeler ship that cruised up the Yukon carrying goods and people to Whitehorse and Dawson City. Since I planned the schedule and we didn’t have a lot of time in Whitehorse, I convinced the boys to hike out to Canyon City, not only was it was the stopping point for the boats, but also the only place left with an original tramway track and tram built by a creative young man that saw an opportunity for cash during the Gold Rush by building a horse drawn wagon and a track from Canyon City to Whitehorse to carry the women and children kicked out of the boats and to lug supplies the same distance.

Canyon City was only 1.5 kms along a relatively smooth dirt path paralleling the Yukon River, but my boss still cursed the refreshing walk as he was filming the tram cart when he looked over to spot a car driving through the trees, “There was a road?!” Who knew? At least the next activity was flying over the Chilkoot Trail, too bad it started to rain and a very beautiful, but unwarranted fog floated serenely above the “Golden Staircase” obliterating our shot. Greg regretted the $700 he spent to shoot useless footage; I, on the other hand, loved the plane ride. It was my first time in a Cessna and although we didn’t get the shot we wanted, I still think some of the footage is useable and regardless; it was a great experience with cool video and photos of fog and snow covered mountains.

There were more historic interviews and places to shoot in Whitehorse, but since it was such an unwelcoming town, I feel the need to skip over most of the details. Skagway greeted us with open arms, but Whitehorse potently accepted us. Dawson City was much more friendly. Too bad we only stayed 3 days.

The goal of so many and the achievement of so few, Dawson City sits along the Yukon River, a quiet town of dirt roads and wooden buildings. The city of gold, triumph for few, disappointment for many, despair all around, but hope everywhere. Dawson still remains an active mining town with tourism thrown in to supplement the town’s income. Its history is kept in the well-preserved buildings from the Gold Rush era and with the knowledgeable docents in every museum and tourist attraction.

Robert Service and Jack London’s cabins both reside here; along with a huge Gold Dredge that ate up the land, but produced over 18 million in gold in the early 1900’s; the Discovery Claim, where Skoohum Jim and George Carmack discovered the gold that set off the Rush; a informative and elaborate museum on the history of the town; plus it’s home to numerous Klondike Gold Rush prospector’s kin. It’s a town full of vibrant history and beautiful scenery. I wish we could have stayed a little longer, but alas, every trip must end.

The best part (insert sarcastic cough) was the 572-mile drive we made from Dawson City to Anchorage. It was easier to drive and fly out of Anchorage then to drive 375-miles back to Skagway, ferry to Juneau and fly back to Nome. The drive wouldn’t have been so bad if I wasn’t cramped in the back seat of the car with my heavy backpack threatening to smash on to my lap at every turn and the annoying lack of foot room.

For the most part, the journey was uneventful, although we saw a grizzly bear run across the freeway about 100 yards in front of our car and we passed 5 full-sized moose walking by the side of the road. We tried to get Greg to stop so we could get them on camera, but Greg said he wanted to get to the hotel and drove on. I really think he was a little intimidated by the moose and didn’t want to get in a standoff like he did 2 weeks ago in Nome; he had to wait and hour and a half before a moose would let him cross the Penny River. They just stared at each other in a stand off manly stubbornness.

The other fun part of the drive was when we got a flat tire. While the boys emptied the jigsaw-puzzled trunk of all the gear to get at the donut, I recorded everything for the behind-the-scenes special they plan to air on the making of Alaskan. I didn’t have to lift a finger in jacking up the under carriage, kicking loose the lug nuts, swapping the tires, and replacing everything in the trunk. I just moved around the guys, capturing the best angles and trying not to laugh at a “how many men does it take to…” joke forming in my head.

Eventually we made it to Wasilla, where we planned to spend the next 2 evenings and the following day off sleeping and relaxing, before heading back to Nome. No, we did not run into Sarah Palin, but I managed to take in a movie and do my laundry, so that counts for something, at least to me.

Now, as I said in the beginning of this long blog, which I’m sure some of you needed a pee break during, I am sitting in my cabin in Nome and awaiting filming prospectors on their search for gold. Before I sign off, I shall leave you with one funny story that Brandon told us when he picked us up at the airport:

“I was speeding down the beach on my ATV, making great time, just jetting it, when I saw a white log. Just ahead on the beach, nice and wide. I head straight for it, with the intent to run it over when, right as I was on top of it, the log rolled over and looked at me….”

“…I swerved to avoid the moving log, realizing at the last minute it was a baby seal. He just looked at me as I careened around him, his big eyes starring. It was freaky.”