Saturday, July 7, 2007
WHITEHORSE, YK — If we thought yesterday was an early wake-up call, today changed all that: at five o’clock the alarm started bleating for our first fishing expedition in the Yukon! Guy Rook from the RCMP invited us along with his group, and even came by the campground to pick us up at 6:30. He was hauling a bright red inflatable boat, and brought Dave Shewchuk, the commanding officer for “M” Division (Yukon) with him. Dave had a big grin on his face — he told us he has nine more working days in the RCMP before he retires.
Four other members and the son of one of them would be joining us at Little Atlin Lake, south of Whitehorse. They were the ones with the fish finder on their boat, and a good knowledge of where the fish would be biting, so we were glad to tag along! In addition, upon our arrival I spotted a large bald eagle perched atop at pine tree by the lake — the presence of eagles is always considered a lucky thing by the Aboriginal people, so we took it as a good omen too.
After a bit of a bumpy ride to the end of the lake, we got our tackle ready and cast out our lines. In no time, Val had caught the first fish of the day — a nice pike weighing about three pounds. We weren’t really planning to get into the scaling, cleaning, filleting and frying today, so he let his scaly prize go. Dave, Guy and Val all caught several more pike, while I continued to cast out my line. The water was beautifully clear, and as I reeled in my line I suddenly saw a flash of fins as a fish approached my hook and then took hold! My rod was nearly bent over double as I reeled and pulled and Val grabbed the net. Finally we landed him — the biggest catch of the day! We had to motor over to our friends’ boat for a measuring tape, because the law requires that anything over 30 inches has to be thrown back. Sure enough, my fish was 34 and a half inches long! We made sure to get a snapshot before lowering the fish back into the water.
The wind had died down by the time we headed back to shore, so the return trip was much smoother. The lake is surrounded with snow-capped mountains and the water was so clear we actually saw schools of trout scattering beneath the boat. Val said it was like fishing in a post card.
Back at the boat ramp as Guy was loading the trailer, I looked across the highway and caught sight of a huge golden eagle perched high on a pine tree, turning its gaze over the lake, like a monarch surveying his kingdom. Dave spotted the eagle’s mate in flight and said they were probably taking turns guarding a nest of young nearby. In a few moments, the flying eagle swooped in to land on the perch, flapping its enormous wings, and its mate took flight, like an aerial changing of the guard. We stood, spellbound, at this amazing scene and these two magnificent birds! Their wings must have been six feet across.
Back at the camp, after thanking Guy for a wonderful adventure, we had a full afternoon ahead of us, although we felt we’d had a full day already. After a rest, we decided to hit two museums in Whitehorse that we hadn’t yet seen. One was called the Beringia Museum, focusing on the land bridge of the Bering Sea during the Ice Age. It was a beautifully presented combination of archeological specimens and Aboriginal legends telling the stories of early man in those regions and the development of the land, plants and climate.
Our dual ticket package got us admission to the Transportation Museum next door, where we enjoyed a terrific display of trains, planes and automobiles, as well as sled dog sleighs, sternwheelers and caterpillars and a number of other vehicles and their role in the history of the region. There were reproductions of photographs taken during the Gold Rush, with men crowded around the packs of flour and provisions they had to hump over the Chilkoot Trail, or lining up at the Whitehorse train station or stopping at a roadhouse on the way to the goldfields. There were also rooms devoted to the building of the Alaska Highway and to the bush planes of the region. It was a fascinating visit, if a bit rushed as closing time approached.
To bring this full and stimulating day to a fitting conclusion, we decided to have one more meal at the famous Rib and Salmon BBQ on Whitehorse’s 2nd Avenue, where Val ordered caribou stew and I had another taste of Alaska halibut. As we ate on the outdoor patio, a couple of people stopped to chat when they read “Temagami” embroidered on Val’s fleece vest — one couple had actually lived in Val’s hometown of Haileybury in the 1970s. Isn’t it a small world?
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Where the North Wind blows
Friday, July 6, 2007
WHITEHORSE, YK— The squawk of the alarm clock woke us this morning; for the first time in many weeks we had a deadline to meet. We booked a combination bus and train day trip to Skagway, Alaska to give Val a break from driving and so we could see the White Pass, one of two used by Gold Rush stampeders, from a unique perspective.
Our tour bus came right to the campground to get us and we headed down the south Klondike Highway toward Fraser, where we would board the train.
Our route took us through a number of mountain ranges, many of them striped with white fingers of snow. We passed mountain streams and lakes of an incredible green. We stopped for a short time at Carcross, a small Aboriginal settlement where caribou still cross the narrowed stream at regular times of year. When it became a village, it was known as Caribou Crossing, but the minister who served the community became annoyed when his mail kept getting diverted to a town of the same name in NWT. So he wrote to the government to see about shortening the name to Carcross. They agreed.
We stepped into Watson’s General Store, intrigued by the eclectic window displays of old washboards, snowshoes, and chamber pots. It was just as jumbled inside, with shelves of dusty bottles and tins with labels from the 20s high on the walls, while newer goods were displayed for sale at the lower levels. Just as we were about to head out the exit door, next to the T-shirt racks and beaded moccasins, I spotted the cardboard Mountie cutout of my friend Kevin Fahey, saluting us in his Red Serge! Nice to see a friendly face in a strange place.
We passed into British Columbia not long afterward, and soon arrived at Fraser, to board the White Pass train. The cars had large clean windows, allowing us to snap pictures of the breathtaking scenery right from our seats. The train traveled very slowly, so we were able to get a good look at everything. We were amazed to see many patches of snow right by the tracks, some areas as big as our front yard. It was pock-marked and a bit dirty at the edges, so obviously not freshly-fallen. But snow in July nevertheless.
The altitude at its highest point was more than 2800 feet, and deep gorges dropped down from the tracks in places. It was hard to imagine the effort it must have taken to build the tracks in such high and precipitous places, some of it in the dead of winter. We passed through a couple of tunnels that plunged us into inky darkness for several seconds; not my favourite sensation, but mercifully brief.
We gradually descended from the heights toward the town of Skagway, that got its name from the Aboriginal phrase that means “place where the North Wind blows”. And blow it did — sending my Tilley Hat into the street at one point! Time to deploy the chin strap; better to look like a dork than run out into the traffic again.
The lady who sold us our tickets for this trip had recommended the Fish Company, near the cruise ships, for its fish and chips, so we headed straight for it and beat the rush. I don’t think I will ever order fish and chips again; no-one could possibly produce a meal more delicious than the one we were served! Tender, succulent morsels of halibut came wrapped in the lightest golden crust of batter, accompanied by tasty French fries, cole slaw, tartar sauce and a wedge of lemon. What a meal!
Thus fortified, we headed toward the town with its wild west wooden buildings and boardwalks. Skagway boasts dozens of purveyors of precious stones, with their windows sparkling with jewels of every colour of the rainbow. The Red Onion Saloon is a famous watering hole, with the original wooden bar from the Gold Rush days. Upstairs is the brothel where five dollars will buy you 15 minutes just like in the old days — except it’s a tour you get nowadays, complete with a black-lace-trimmed red satin garter as a souvenir.
Before we knew it, it was time to find our bus (which had continued from Fraser by road to meet us there) and head back to Whitehorse. Our bright-eyed driver, Doug, spotted bear by the side of the road in three different places and slowed down so we could look and snap photos. One was a sow with two adorable cubs, right by the roadside! No grizzlies yet; these were all black bears.
Our wildlife count could not include the two white mountain goats we spotted on a rocky mountainside — by coincidence, they happened to be behind the property of the local taxidermist, and they seemed to be standing quite still! Maybe another day.
WHITEHORSE, YK— The squawk of the alarm clock woke us this morning; for the first time in many weeks we had a deadline to meet. We booked a combination bus and train day trip to Skagway, Alaska to give Val a break from driving and so we could see the White Pass, one of two used by Gold Rush stampeders, from a unique perspective.
Our tour bus came right to the campground to get us and we headed down the south Klondike Highway toward Fraser, where we would board the train.
Our route took us through a number of mountain ranges, many of them striped with white fingers of snow. We passed mountain streams and lakes of an incredible green. We stopped for a short time at Carcross, a small Aboriginal settlement where caribou still cross the narrowed stream at regular times of year. When it became a village, it was known as Caribou Crossing, but the minister who served the community became annoyed when his mail kept getting diverted to a town of the same name in NWT. So he wrote to the government to see about shortening the name to Carcross. They agreed.
We stepped into Watson’s General Store, intrigued by the eclectic window displays of old washboards, snowshoes, and chamber pots. It was just as jumbled inside, with shelves of dusty bottles and tins with labels from the 20s high on the walls, while newer goods were displayed for sale at the lower levels. Just as we were about to head out the exit door, next to the T-shirt racks and beaded moccasins, I spotted the cardboard Mountie cutout of my friend Kevin Fahey, saluting us in his Red Serge! Nice to see a friendly face in a strange place.
We passed into British Columbia not long afterward, and soon arrived at Fraser, to board the White Pass train. The cars had large clean windows, allowing us to snap pictures of the breathtaking scenery right from our seats. The train traveled very slowly, so we were able to get a good look at everything. We were amazed to see many patches of snow right by the tracks, some areas as big as our front yard. It was pock-marked and a bit dirty at the edges, so obviously not freshly-fallen. But snow in July nevertheless.
The altitude at its highest point was more than 2800 feet, and deep gorges dropped down from the tracks in places. It was hard to imagine the effort it must have taken to build the tracks in such high and precipitous places, some of it in the dead of winter. We passed through a couple of tunnels that plunged us into inky darkness for several seconds; not my favourite sensation, but mercifully brief.
We gradually descended from the heights toward the town of Skagway, that got its name from the Aboriginal phrase that means “place where the North Wind blows”. And blow it did — sending my Tilley Hat into the street at one point! Time to deploy the chin strap; better to look like a dork than run out into the traffic again.
The lady who sold us our tickets for this trip had recommended the Fish Company, near the cruise ships, for its fish and chips, so we headed straight for it and beat the rush. I don’t think I will ever order fish and chips again; no-one could possibly produce a meal more delicious than the one we were served! Tender, succulent morsels of halibut came wrapped in the lightest golden crust of batter, accompanied by tasty French fries, cole slaw, tartar sauce and a wedge of lemon. What a meal!
Thus fortified, we headed toward the town with its wild west wooden buildings and boardwalks. Skagway boasts dozens of purveyors of precious stones, with their windows sparkling with jewels of every colour of the rainbow. The Red Onion Saloon is a famous watering hole, with the original wooden bar from the Gold Rush days. Upstairs is the brothel where five dollars will buy you 15 minutes just like in the old days — except it’s a tour you get nowadays, complete with a black-lace-trimmed red satin garter as a souvenir.
Before we knew it, it was time to find our bus (which had continued from Fraser by road to meet us there) and head back to Whitehorse. Our bright-eyed driver, Doug, spotted bear by the side of the road in three different places and slowed down so we could look and snap photos. One was a sow with two adorable cubs, right by the roadside! No grizzlies yet; these were all black bears.
Our wildlife count could not include the two white mountain goats we spotted on a rocky mountainside — by coincidence, they happened to be behind the property of the local taxidermist, and they seemed to be standing quite still! Maybe another day.
Cabins, canyons and colleagues
Thursday, July 5, 2007
WHITEHORSE, YK — Today was Mum’s last day with us, and we wanted to pack in as much as possible up to the time she had to check in at the airport, so the turn of events at the SS Klondike this morning was fortuitous indeed.
We had toured the sternwheeler SS Keno in Dawson City a few days ago and only got to see the engine room and nether workings of the vessel; the staterooms and other levels were closed to the public. So when we came to see the larger SS Klondike here in Whitehorse, we wanted to be sure we wouldn’t miss these. We arrived just in time for the 10 o’clock tour, to be told that a busload of tourists had claimed both the 10 and 10:30 time slots and the next chance would be at 11 — too late for us, as we had to have lunch and get to the airport for 12:30.
My ever-optimistic Mum explained all this and said if we could just take a peek at the stateroom level, we’d be satisfied. The young man from Parks Canada very kindly agreed to do this for us, as the tour bus hadn’t arrived and we’d only take a few minutes of his time. On top of that, he said he wouldn’t charge us! So we got our own private tour of every part except the engine room. The boat was all beautifully restored to the early 1900s, with the lounge complete with wicker chairs and potted ferns, the dining room, galley, staterooms that looked like the guests had just stepped out, leaving their clothes and belongings behind, bakery, pantry and even the captain’s cabin and second mate’s quarters.
The view of Whitehorse, to the north, and the Yukon River to the south, from the top deck was terrific as well. Our guide showed us a photo of the entire vessel being rolled on soapy logs down the city’s main street in the 1960s from the dry dock to its current location, because the smokestack was too tall to allow it to float under existing bridges! It was a great tour, and nice and quick.
That gave us time to drive the five kilometers or so to Miles Canyon, just south of the city. The rocky cliffs on either side squeezed the Yukon River into a space about 25 meters wide, and it swirled and eddied through the narrow passage with great speed. The water was a beautiful green, and on either bank were pine forests with soft spongy undergrowth and, in the distance on every side the mountains, some still showing patches of snow. Add to this a sky of brilliant blue scattered with white puffy clouds, and you have a painting-in-waiting!
It was time to get back for an early lunch and then to take Mum to the airport. She said she had had a wonderful week with us, and we really enjoyed sharing this beautiful corner of the world with her. Her curiosity, enthusiasm and helpfulness made her visit most enjoyable.
There were some practical details to tackle next, including a spot of shopping and refueling the truck. We then stopped by the RCMP detachment to say hello to Brigitte Parker, my communications counterpart here in M Division, and Inspector Guy Rook, who worked with Val at Headquarters many moons ago. Luckily, both were there, so we were able to pick their brains about local best bets and see a bit of the detachment as well.
Back at the trailer, I rounded up an overdue collection of washing and headed for the campground coin laundry. It’s always a challenge to figure out the machines, acquire the proper coins and get everything rolling. One seldom runs across men doing this for some reason. We women have a special touch, I suppose — or, as one of my fellow laundresses wisecracked today, the men will throw the wrong things in together or get stymied by the intricacies of detergent, softeners, bleaches and water temperatures and wreck all the clothes, so it’s easier to do it yourself. She said it, not me.
WHITEHORSE, YK — Today was Mum’s last day with us, and we wanted to pack in as much as possible up to the time she had to check in at the airport, so the turn of events at the SS Klondike this morning was fortuitous indeed.
We had toured the sternwheeler SS Keno in Dawson City a few days ago and only got to see the engine room and nether workings of the vessel; the staterooms and other levels were closed to the public. So when we came to see the larger SS Klondike here in Whitehorse, we wanted to be sure we wouldn’t miss these. We arrived just in time for the 10 o’clock tour, to be told that a busload of tourists had claimed both the 10 and 10:30 time slots and the next chance would be at 11 — too late for us, as we had to have lunch and get to the airport for 12:30.
My ever-optimistic Mum explained all this and said if we could just take a peek at the stateroom level, we’d be satisfied. The young man from Parks Canada very kindly agreed to do this for us, as the tour bus hadn’t arrived and we’d only take a few minutes of his time. On top of that, he said he wouldn’t charge us! So we got our own private tour of every part except the engine room. The boat was all beautifully restored to the early 1900s, with the lounge complete with wicker chairs and potted ferns, the dining room, galley, staterooms that looked like the guests had just stepped out, leaving their clothes and belongings behind, bakery, pantry and even the captain’s cabin and second mate’s quarters.
The view of Whitehorse, to the north, and the Yukon River to the south, from the top deck was terrific as well. Our guide showed us a photo of the entire vessel being rolled on soapy logs down the city’s main street in the 1960s from the dry dock to its current location, because the smokestack was too tall to allow it to float under existing bridges! It was a great tour, and nice and quick.
That gave us time to drive the five kilometers or so to Miles Canyon, just south of the city. The rocky cliffs on either side squeezed the Yukon River into a space about 25 meters wide, and it swirled and eddied through the narrow passage with great speed. The water was a beautiful green, and on either bank were pine forests with soft spongy undergrowth and, in the distance on every side the mountains, some still showing patches of snow. Add to this a sky of brilliant blue scattered with white puffy clouds, and you have a painting-in-waiting!
It was time to get back for an early lunch and then to take Mum to the airport. She said she had had a wonderful week with us, and we really enjoyed sharing this beautiful corner of the world with her. Her curiosity, enthusiasm and helpfulness made her visit most enjoyable.
There were some practical details to tackle next, including a spot of shopping and refueling the truck. We then stopped by the RCMP detachment to say hello to Brigitte Parker, my communications counterpart here in M Division, and Inspector Guy Rook, who worked with Val at Headquarters many moons ago. Luckily, both were there, so we were able to pick their brains about local best bets and see a bit of the detachment as well.
Back at the trailer, I rounded up an overdue collection of washing and headed for the campground coin laundry. It’s always a challenge to figure out the machines, acquire the proper coins and get everything rolling. One seldom runs across men doing this for some reason. We women have a special touch, I suppose — or, as one of my fellow laundresses wisecracked today, the men will throw the wrong things in together or get stymied by the intricacies of detergent, softeners, bleaches and water temperatures and wreck all the clothes, so it’s easier to do it yourself. She said it, not me.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
On the marge of Lake Laberge
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
WHITEHORSE, YK — We’re back in the Yukon’s capital tonight, so that Mum can catch her plane tomorrow afternoon. She’s been great company this week, gamely taking on all our activities and pitching in to help wherever she could. Our only hope is that we haven’t worn her out! She says not!
Even though we were retracing our steps along the Klondike Highway back from Pelly Crossing to Whitehorse, we saw a number of new things; one reason was because we had passed them by on the way up with intention of catching them on the way back. The other was that, when we headed north, we were fogged in for quite a distance, and simply could not see the landscape, but today it was perfectly clear.
Our first stop today was at the Montague House, one of the roadhouses that travelers stayed at in the early 1900s when they were traveling in the Klondike. Old photographs at the remains of the roadhouse showed horse-drawn sleighs carrying up to a dozen passengers, bundled up to their ears in thick fur coats and wrapped with blankets — and the sleighs were open to the air! Imagine the wind chill in minus 40 weather clipping along the frigid track!
We had to stop at Braeburn Lodge again to see if a cinnamon bun tasted any different southbound, compared to northbound. It took several nibbles to determine this subtle difference. We added a light lunch to clear our palates so we could perform further taste tests afterward. The bun passed, but we brought the remaining half with us for follow-up later.
It was lovely seeing the beautiful Yukon landscape going the other way; we passed through a couple of areas that had been devastated by forest fires, and observed clumps of purple-pink fireweed growing on the forest floor between stark, bare trunks of burned pines.
When we saw the sign for Lake Laberge, we turned to see up close the lake that Robert Service had immortalized in The Cremation of Sam McGee. It’s 40 miles long and a beautiful pale green, with multi-coloured mountains on the far side. The Yukon government has a campground that operates on the honour system: campers are expected to put their cash payment in an envelope in a special deposit box indicating which site they have chosen.
On the way back out to the highway, we stopped at Mom’s Bakery, a home business that was mentioned in the guidebook. There was Tracie Harris, alias Mom, pulling some weeds by the gate, and she cheerfully invited us in. She had a lovely flower and vegetable garden with tables and umbrellas set out for visitors, each decorated with a pot bursting with pansies. Poppies, lilies and even fragrant lilac bushes, still in bloom, grew in profusion next to her tomato, lettuce and carrot plants. Inside the house was her little bakery shop with pies, enormous cookies, cinnamon buns and Nanaimo bars set out for sale. We chatted with Tracie for a few minutes and then Val asked her about the unusual ring she was wearing — a huge lumpy blob of gold nuggets studded with diamonds. She told us she had mined the nuggets herself!
She had been doing some research for Noranda and kept running across the name of one prospector whose claim was right around the countryside she knew like the back of her hand. It pinpointed a creek in a place where no creek existed, so she decided to check it out. As she climbed the hill, she could hear water running but still saw no creek. Finally she pulled back some of the moss on the ground and discovered an old wooden sluice with water running down it. The riffles, or cross pieces in the sluice, showed quite a bit of wear, and when she reached down to touch one, it was completely rotted. So, she took out the riffles and laid them out on a tarp to dry out, and when they were completely dry, she took them home and burned them in her fireplace. There in the ashes were tiny nuggets of gold!
Since that discovery, Tracie has been digging for gold, and finding it with regularity. Her face wrinkled into a huge grin as she related this amazing story! She has hired people to work the claim so she can stay home playing with dough, as she puts it, while they make dough for her among the pines and black flies.
As she told her story, I glanced over her shoulder into the rest of the house behind her, with its wood stove and pine-paneled walls. “Hello,” said a friendly voice — and I looked around some more, to discover a huge, colourful parrot sitting atop a large perch inside the doorway! When we left, Tracie told Joey the parrot to say “bye-bye”. It was a memorable visit, and we have some yummy souvenirs as well.
WHITEHORSE, YK — We’re back in the Yukon’s capital tonight, so that Mum can catch her plane tomorrow afternoon. She’s been great company this week, gamely taking on all our activities and pitching in to help wherever she could. Our only hope is that we haven’t worn her out! She says not!
Even though we were retracing our steps along the Klondike Highway back from Pelly Crossing to Whitehorse, we saw a number of new things; one reason was because we had passed them by on the way up with intention of catching them on the way back. The other was that, when we headed north, we were fogged in for quite a distance, and simply could not see the landscape, but today it was perfectly clear.
Our first stop today was at the Montague House, one of the roadhouses that travelers stayed at in the early 1900s when they were traveling in the Klondike. Old photographs at the remains of the roadhouse showed horse-drawn sleighs carrying up to a dozen passengers, bundled up to their ears in thick fur coats and wrapped with blankets — and the sleighs were open to the air! Imagine the wind chill in minus 40 weather clipping along the frigid track!
We had to stop at Braeburn Lodge again to see if a cinnamon bun tasted any different southbound, compared to northbound. It took several nibbles to determine this subtle difference. We added a light lunch to clear our palates so we could perform further taste tests afterward. The bun passed, but we brought the remaining half with us for follow-up later.
It was lovely seeing the beautiful Yukon landscape going the other way; we passed through a couple of areas that had been devastated by forest fires, and observed clumps of purple-pink fireweed growing on the forest floor between stark, bare trunks of burned pines.
When we saw the sign for Lake Laberge, we turned to see up close the lake that Robert Service had immortalized in The Cremation of Sam McGee. It’s 40 miles long and a beautiful pale green, with multi-coloured mountains on the far side. The Yukon government has a campground that operates on the honour system: campers are expected to put their cash payment in an envelope in a special deposit box indicating which site they have chosen.
On the way back out to the highway, we stopped at Mom’s Bakery, a home business that was mentioned in the guidebook. There was Tracie Harris, alias Mom, pulling some weeds by the gate, and she cheerfully invited us in. She had a lovely flower and vegetable garden with tables and umbrellas set out for visitors, each decorated with a pot bursting with pansies. Poppies, lilies and even fragrant lilac bushes, still in bloom, grew in profusion next to her tomato, lettuce and carrot plants. Inside the house was her little bakery shop with pies, enormous cookies, cinnamon buns and Nanaimo bars set out for sale. We chatted with Tracie for a few minutes and then Val asked her about the unusual ring she was wearing — a huge lumpy blob of gold nuggets studded with diamonds. She told us she had mined the nuggets herself!
She had been doing some research for Noranda and kept running across the name of one prospector whose claim was right around the countryside she knew like the back of her hand. It pinpointed a creek in a place where no creek existed, so she decided to check it out. As she climbed the hill, she could hear water running but still saw no creek. Finally she pulled back some of the moss on the ground and discovered an old wooden sluice with water running down it. The riffles, or cross pieces in the sluice, showed quite a bit of wear, and when she reached down to touch one, it was completely rotted. So, she took out the riffles and laid them out on a tarp to dry out, and when they were completely dry, she took them home and burned them in her fireplace. There in the ashes were tiny nuggets of gold!
Since that discovery, Tracie has been digging for gold, and finding it with regularity. Her face wrinkled into a huge grin as she related this amazing story! She has hired people to work the claim so she can stay home playing with dough, as she puts it, while they make dough for her among the pines and black flies.
As she told her story, I glanced over her shoulder into the rest of the house behind her, with its wood stove and pine-paneled walls. “Hello,” said a friendly voice — and I looked around some more, to discover a huge, colourful parrot sitting atop a large perch inside the doorway! When we left, Tracie told Joey the parrot to say “bye-bye”. It was a memorable visit, and we have some yummy souvenirs as well.
Doubling back doubles the pleasure
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
PELLY CROSSING, YK — We have been to so many trailer campgrounds in the month we have been on this voyage, that it’s sometimes hard to remember what happened where or when. Tonight we are making that task even more challenging, because we are back at Pelly Crossing for the second time, and we are parked in the exact same site as before!
It is exactly one month ago today that we left Ottawa, and when we look at our map it amazes us to see how far we have traveled. We’re at the 63rd parallel now, which positions us north of Moosonee, north of Rankin Inlet — even north of the southernmost tip of Greenland! And we will get even further north than that before our trip is over; we have decided to drive the Dempster Highway up to Inuvik.
People who know about the Dempster understand what we are undertaking. We had an inkling when we saw the number of enterprises around here offering windshield repairs, tire replacements and complete vehicle and RV wash services. The coating of brown mud that you pick up on that long, unfinished route is worn like a badge of courage by those who dare to take on the challenge. We are going to drive up in a week or two, after we do our circuit through Alaska, but today on our way back from Dawson City, we turned up a kilometer or so for an idea of what it’s like, and to make it possible for Mum to brag that she too had driven the Dempster. We were happy to learn, at the gas station at the entrance of the highway, that we can park our RV for the few days we need to get up there and back — and free of charge. That will make it much less hazardous, and we won’t have to muck out the entire insides of dust when we get back.
We chuckled when we saw a mini-van pass us by, heading back from there, filthy with caked-on mud in which was proudly scrawled in large, capital letters, DEMPSTER. My perceptions were so set by this time that, when we stopped at the interpretive sign describing the highway’s flora and fauna and history, I read Changing tires when the title really said Changing times!
On one of the panels was a photo of a large muskox with humped shoulders, long curled horns and a thick, moulting coat. “Boy,” Mum said, “I wouldn’t want to run into that creature on a dark night!” Then she immediately brightened and said, “but then again, up here there is no night, so that’s not a problem!”
Once we were back on the Klondike Highway, heading for Whitehorse (so that Mum can catch her plane on to Victoria and Vancouver), we stopped to look at Gravel Lake, a favourite spot for many kinds of migrating birds. We took out the binoculars, and spotted a handsome pair of white swans which were rather ungracefully up-ending themselves to find food at the bottom of the lake. Mum and Val even caught sight of their little cygnet nearby.
We stopped again at the Moose Creek Lodge for lunch and, since this time it wasn’t rainy, we could stroll around outside as well. The owners have quite a sense of humour; they have fashioned an enormous mosquito out of knarled wood and makeshift wings, even dabbing the end of its stinger with red paint for blood! There’s also a trapper’s log cabin in which the tenant lies on his cot, dressed in overalls and a plaid shirt. A bear skin hangs to dry from the ceiling and in the corner is his tin bathtub and snowshoes. Out in front of the lodge are two whimsical moose with real antlers and heads and bodies made of logs. We arrived at the perfect time, as a busload of tourists were just pulling away. The woman who served us was the same one from our last visit and even remembered that Val had ordered a buffalo burger. As for me, I preferred the carrot ginger soup and homemade bread.
Mother Nature smiled on us once again, allowing us to settle into our campsite before opening the skies to send down a steady shower, washing down the truck and trailer, free of charge. Now, as evening approaches, the skies have cleared and a host of birds are serenading us.
PELLY CROSSING, YK — We have been to so many trailer campgrounds in the month we have been on this voyage, that it’s sometimes hard to remember what happened where or when. Tonight we are making that task even more challenging, because we are back at Pelly Crossing for the second time, and we are parked in the exact same site as before!
It is exactly one month ago today that we left Ottawa, and when we look at our map it amazes us to see how far we have traveled. We’re at the 63rd parallel now, which positions us north of Moosonee, north of Rankin Inlet — even north of the southernmost tip of Greenland! And we will get even further north than that before our trip is over; we have decided to drive the Dempster Highway up to Inuvik.
People who know about the Dempster understand what we are undertaking. We had an inkling when we saw the number of enterprises around here offering windshield repairs, tire replacements and complete vehicle and RV wash services. The coating of brown mud that you pick up on that long, unfinished route is worn like a badge of courage by those who dare to take on the challenge. We are going to drive up in a week or two, after we do our circuit through Alaska, but today on our way back from Dawson City, we turned up a kilometer or so for an idea of what it’s like, and to make it possible for Mum to brag that she too had driven the Dempster. We were happy to learn, at the gas station at the entrance of the highway, that we can park our RV for the few days we need to get up there and back — and free of charge. That will make it much less hazardous, and we won’t have to muck out the entire insides of dust when we get back.
We chuckled when we saw a mini-van pass us by, heading back from there, filthy with caked-on mud in which was proudly scrawled in large, capital letters, DEMPSTER. My perceptions were so set by this time that, when we stopped at the interpretive sign describing the highway’s flora and fauna and history, I read Changing tires when the title really said Changing times!
On one of the panels was a photo of a large muskox with humped shoulders, long curled horns and a thick, moulting coat. “Boy,” Mum said, “I wouldn’t want to run into that creature on a dark night!” Then she immediately brightened and said, “but then again, up here there is no night, so that’s not a problem!”
Once we were back on the Klondike Highway, heading for Whitehorse (so that Mum can catch her plane on to Victoria and Vancouver), we stopped to look at Gravel Lake, a favourite spot for many kinds of migrating birds. We took out the binoculars, and spotted a handsome pair of white swans which were rather ungracefully up-ending themselves to find food at the bottom of the lake. Mum and Val even caught sight of their little cygnet nearby.
We stopped again at the Moose Creek Lodge for lunch and, since this time it wasn’t rainy, we could stroll around outside as well. The owners have quite a sense of humour; they have fashioned an enormous mosquito out of knarled wood and makeshift wings, even dabbing the end of its stinger with red paint for blood! There’s also a trapper’s log cabin in which the tenant lies on his cot, dressed in overalls and a plaid shirt. A bear skin hangs to dry from the ceiling and in the corner is his tin bathtub and snowshoes. Out in front of the lodge are two whimsical moose with real antlers and heads and bodies made of logs. We arrived at the perfect time, as a busload of tourists were just pulling away. The woman who served us was the same one from our last visit and even remembered that Val had ordered a buffalo burger. As for me, I preferred the carrot ginger soup and homemade bread.
Mother Nature smiled on us once again, allowing us to settle into our campsite before opening the skies to send down a steady shower, washing down the truck and trailer, free of charge. Now, as evening approaches, the skies have cleared and a host of birds are serenading us.
Monday, July 2, 2007
Gold in them thar hills
Monday, July 2, 2007
DAWSON CITY, YK — The ingenuity of human beings who are bent upon bettering their lot in life has shone through our visits today. Gold, and the promise of the good life that went along with it, inspired men to leave the comforts of their southern homes, travel thousands of miles, endure hardship, bitter cold and backbreaking work, subsist on beans and sourdough bread for months and devote weeks of cutting wood for fires that would melt the permafrost, a foot or two at a time, down to the bedrock so they could hack away in search of a few nuggets.
Before long they realized that this method was far too labour intensive, and their inventive minds came up with dredges that would scrape buckets full of rocks at the front, pull them up to spill into giant sifters, separate the pebbles and stones from the nuggets and gold dust (known as plasser gold) and spit the useless stuff out the back.
We toured Dredge #4 this morning, and marveled at the complexity and size of the machinery that made it operate, and the time and effort it took, first to build it, and then to operate it. A huge steel gear, 14 feet in diameter, had to be made in the United States, shipped up the west coast and all the way around the Alaska panhandle, floated on stern-wheelers up the Yukon River to Dawson, and transported by train to the goldfields before it could be assembled in the dredge. All the other pieces had to be similarly fashioned and shipped. The huge beams that made the framework of the dredge were Douglas firs, shipped from British Columbia. Thousands of trees, cut into logs, were required to heat the boilers that made the machinery work.
Finer and finer screens sifted the rubble to harvest every last speck of gold, including a final layer of woven cocoa mats that, in the end, were burned, so they could sift the ashes for the minutest crumbs that might have been caught in their fibres. This entire process was repeated, every 10 feet, along a promising valley. It took 18 years to move from one end to the other!
More information about the people of the north awaited us after lunch, when we toured the residence of the Commissioner of the Yukon, George Black, and his tough-as-nails wife, Martha, who left her first husband and toiled up the Chilkoot Pass with her brother in search of adventure and started a sawmill to serve the prospectors. While all this was going on she gave birth to a baby boy, a parting remembrance of Husband #1. The little one charmed the entire community of homesick men, who would visit and bring toys and gifts. When Martha met and married George, the new couple ensured that the gracious residence would be enjoyed by everyone, not just the well-heeled.
Our next stop was the SS Keno, one of the last stern-wheelers to ply the waters of the Yukon River. Our guide, in her period long skirt, mutton-sleeved blouse and veiled bonnet, described the duties of the crew and the workings of the vessel which, despite its large size, only drew two feet of water, making it ideal for navigating the sandbars and other hazards of the river. It was mainly designed for shipping freight, but there was also space for a few passengers. The whole town would come out to greet her on her first run in the spring, and it was a sad day when she took her last voyage before freeze-up every winter.
We also visited the Aboriginal cultural centre that described the residents of this area, known as the Hän, before the white man came in their thousands and changed everything. Currently there are about 300 Aboriginal residents in Dawson, and much effort has been made to keep the culture alive.
Time was running short for our visit to the Dawson Museum, so we only scratched the surface there, but they had lovely displays of prospectors’ campsites, honky-tonk hotel bars, Victorian parlours, Aboriginal artifacts, old telephone exchanges and the like. Dawson is definitely a place to visit more than once!
Mother Nature smiled on us once again today, providing warm temperatures and dry weather until we were safely back at the trailer, after which she cracked a few thunderbolts and washed our dusty truck clean once again.
DAWSON CITY, YK — The ingenuity of human beings who are bent upon bettering their lot in life has shone through our visits today. Gold, and the promise of the good life that went along with it, inspired men to leave the comforts of their southern homes, travel thousands of miles, endure hardship, bitter cold and backbreaking work, subsist on beans and sourdough bread for months and devote weeks of cutting wood for fires that would melt the permafrost, a foot or two at a time, down to the bedrock so they could hack away in search of a few nuggets.
Before long they realized that this method was far too labour intensive, and their inventive minds came up with dredges that would scrape buckets full of rocks at the front, pull them up to spill into giant sifters, separate the pebbles and stones from the nuggets and gold dust (known as plasser gold) and spit the useless stuff out the back.
We toured Dredge #4 this morning, and marveled at the complexity and size of the machinery that made it operate, and the time and effort it took, first to build it, and then to operate it. A huge steel gear, 14 feet in diameter, had to be made in the United States, shipped up the west coast and all the way around the Alaska panhandle, floated on stern-wheelers up the Yukon River to Dawson, and transported by train to the goldfields before it could be assembled in the dredge. All the other pieces had to be similarly fashioned and shipped. The huge beams that made the framework of the dredge were Douglas firs, shipped from British Columbia. Thousands of trees, cut into logs, were required to heat the boilers that made the machinery work.
Finer and finer screens sifted the rubble to harvest every last speck of gold, including a final layer of woven cocoa mats that, in the end, were burned, so they could sift the ashes for the minutest crumbs that might have been caught in their fibres. This entire process was repeated, every 10 feet, along a promising valley. It took 18 years to move from one end to the other!
More information about the people of the north awaited us after lunch, when we toured the residence of the Commissioner of the Yukon, George Black, and his tough-as-nails wife, Martha, who left her first husband and toiled up the Chilkoot Pass with her brother in search of adventure and started a sawmill to serve the prospectors. While all this was going on she gave birth to a baby boy, a parting remembrance of Husband #1. The little one charmed the entire community of homesick men, who would visit and bring toys and gifts. When Martha met and married George, the new couple ensured that the gracious residence would be enjoyed by everyone, not just the well-heeled.
Our next stop was the SS Keno, one of the last stern-wheelers to ply the waters of the Yukon River. Our guide, in her period long skirt, mutton-sleeved blouse and veiled bonnet, described the duties of the crew and the workings of the vessel which, despite its large size, only drew two feet of water, making it ideal for navigating the sandbars and other hazards of the river. It was mainly designed for shipping freight, but there was also space for a few passengers. The whole town would come out to greet her on her first run in the spring, and it was a sad day when she took her last voyage before freeze-up every winter.
We also visited the Aboriginal cultural centre that described the residents of this area, known as the Hän, before the white man came in their thousands and changed everything. Currently there are about 300 Aboriginal residents in Dawson, and much effort has been made to keep the culture alive.
Time was running short for our visit to the Dawson Museum, so we only scratched the surface there, but they had lovely displays of prospectors’ campsites, honky-tonk hotel bars, Victorian parlours, Aboriginal artifacts, old telephone exchanges and the like. Dawson is definitely a place to visit more than once!
Mother Nature smiled on us once again today, providing warm temperatures and dry weather until we were safely back at the trailer, after which she cracked a few thunderbolts and washed our dusty truck clean once again.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Canada Day under a midnight sun
Sunday, July 1, 2007
DAWSON CITY, YUKON — Val and I were still in the sofa bed this morning when Mum opened the door, dressed in her red and white regalia for Canada Day, to greet the day. I had put up some little Canada Day flags and balloons around the trailer last night to prepare for the day. We got up and at ‘em, had some breakfast and headed in to town for the parade.
In a town the size of Dawson (about 1400 people), everybody gets into the act. Five Mounties were there in their Red Serge, posing for photos with the tourists (including us!), ready to lead the procession. There were antique cars, kids with their bicycles all decorated with streamers and flags, all the fire engines in town, and a couple of floats as well. The whole bunch, participants and spectators alike, ended up at the Victory Garden next to the museum for big slabs of birthday cake and juice.
We strolled through the town to the Commissioner’s residence to watch "The Mounties Get Their Man", a skit by two Parks Canada employees dressed in period costume. The Mountie of the pair was Special Constable Kate Ryan, who rode up on Thunder, her horse (made of a sock and a broomstick) to arrest the nefarious Fred, known for smuggling gold and other unsavory activities. The young lady who played Kate was impersonating a real character, as women were hired from time to time as matrons and given special constable status by the NWMP. It was a fun way to absorb some early RCMP history.
After lunch we brought Mum back to the trailer for a snooze and went back to browse through the Visitor Centre. When we arrived we were offered another slab of Canada Day birthday cake! We started chatting with an American couple who have been stuck in Dawson for two weeks because of complications involving a broken drive shaft on their truck. They’ve enjoyed every bit of their enforced stay! We also took a quick look at some fascinating film footage of gold-digging from the early days.
With Mum back with us, we tromped over to the Palace Grand Theatre, a wonderful two-storey wooden building, to see the "Great Klondike Character Contest". Six young actors described their roles in the life of Dawson’s history with actual photos as the backdrop, and the audience had to vote with their applause for the one they liked the best. Was it the Mountie, who brought law and order? Or Klondike Kate, with the heart of gold? The winner was old Mrs. Tremblay, the first woman to come to the Klondike, who prepared a Christmas dinner for the entire community, sending out invitations on pieces of bark and asking her guests to bring their own cutlery.
A free concert in the gazebo was next on the agenda, with a salmon barbeque offered at the same venue, on the dike next to the Yukon River. We balanced paper plates and lemonade glasses as we made our way to a grassy spot to sit down and eat (all the picnic tables were already claimed) and listen to the music. Then on to the ice cream parlour for dessert and a brief pause to consume our cones on real chairs set out along the board walk.
The finale of the evening was a visit to the log cabin of Robert Service where a character named Johnny, dressed in bowler hat, striped pants and vest, related the life story of this famed poet and recited some of his works. Johnny asked everyone in the audience where they were from, and wove comments into his anecdotes to draw in each person, even giving the cue to one woman to scream at the appropriate spot in The Shooting of Dan McGrew! He did a terrific job.
By the end of a day sitting in hard chairs at the theatre, on the grass at the barbeque and on wooden benches at the log cabin, our backsides were done in, and the soft chairs and couch at the trailer were a welcome resting place at the end of a glorious Canada Day under the midnight sun.
DAWSON CITY, YUKON — Val and I were still in the sofa bed this morning when Mum opened the door, dressed in her red and white regalia for Canada Day, to greet the day. I had put up some little Canada Day flags and balloons around the trailer last night to prepare for the day. We got up and at ‘em, had some breakfast and headed in to town for the parade.
In a town the size of Dawson (about 1400 people), everybody gets into the act. Five Mounties were there in their Red Serge, posing for photos with the tourists (including us!), ready to lead the procession. There were antique cars, kids with their bicycles all decorated with streamers and flags, all the fire engines in town, and a couple of floats as well. The whole bunch, participants and spectators alike, ended up at the Victory Garden next to the museum for big slabs of birthday cake and juice.
We strolled through the town to the Commissioner’s residence to watch "The Mounties Get Their Man", a skit by two Parks Canada employees dressed in period costume. The Mountie of the pair was Special Constable Kate Ryan, who rode up on Thunder, her horse (made of a sock and a broomstick) to arrest the nefarious Fred, known for smuggling gold and other unsavory activities. The young lady who played Kate was impersonating a real character, as women were hired from time to time as matrons and given special constable status by the NWMP. It was a fun way to absorb some early RCMP history.
After lunch we brought Mum back to the trailer for a snooze and went back to browse through the Visitor Centre. When we arrived we were offered another slab of Canada Day birthday cake! We started chatting with an American couple who have been stuck in Dawson for two weeks because of complications involving a broken drive shaft on their truck. They’ve enjoyed every bit of their enforced stay! We also took a quick look at some fascinating film footage of gold-digging from the early days.
With Mum back with us, we tromped over to the Palace Grand Theatre, a wonderful two-storey wooden building, to see the "Great Klondike Character Contest". Six young actors described their roles in the life of Dawson’s history with actual photos as the backdrop, and the audience had to vote with their applause for the one they liked the best. Was it the Mountie, who brought law and order? Or Klondike Kate, with the heart of gold? The winner was old Mrs. Tremblay, the first woman to come to the Klondike, who prepared a Christmas dinner for the entire community, sending out invitations on pieces of bark and asking her guests to bring their own cutlery.
A free concert in the gazebo was next on the agenda, with a salmon barbeque offered at the same venue, on the dike next to the Yukon River. We balanced paper plates and lemonade glasses as we made our way to a grassy spot to sit down and eat (all the picnic tables were already claimed) and listen to the music. Then on to the ice cream parlour for dessert and a brief pause to consume our cones on real chairs set out along the board walk.
The finale of the evening was a visit to the log cabin of Robert Service where a character named Johnny, dressed in bowler hat, striped pants and vest, related the life story of this famed poet and recited some of his works. Johnny asked everyone in the audience where they were from, and wove comments into his anecdotes to draw in each person, even giving the cue to one woman to scream at the appropriate spot in The Shooting of Dan McGrew! He did a terrific job.
By the end of a day sitting in hard chairs at the theatre, on the grass at the barbeque and on wooden benches at the log cabin, our backsides were done in, and the soft chairs and couch at the trailer were a welcome resting place at the end of a glorious Canada Day under the midnight sun.
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