EPISODE 243 YUKON DIARY SKAGWAY IN 1962…suddenly a crowd

EPISODE 243 YUKON DIARY SKAGWAY IN 1962

alan skeoch

Feb. 2021

White Pass Railway today…with at least a dozen passenger coaches to handle the one million tourists. On my trip in 1962 there were only a few coaches…an empty train.

Skagway Today…before a tourist ship arrives.

Skagway…back then.

Wednesday Sept. 12, 1962

The White Pass Railway threaded the Dead Horse Pass needle slowly…carefully. To make an

error … a full speed ahead kind of error….invited a swift and catastrophic end to my Yukon Diary.

So we Twisted our way down to Skagway. (Excuse the double metaphors…i.e.threading a needle

and ‘ Twist Again Like we Did Last Summer’) Travelling the Klondike trail in reverse. Alone. No baggage

except my brief case and extra socks.

I find it hard to believe that just yesterday I was tagging mining claims in a God awful

swamp with patches of Yukon stunted Spruce. Carrying a 30-30 rifle and a Blazing axe.

My feet breaking through an inch of ice with each step. Feet awash in ice water that my

body temperature heated into a thin kind of hot soup as my feet boiled.

And today I am sitting alone on a near empty passenger coach built in 1900 in the

expectation that the Yukon was about to open up to settlement. That never happened

so the White Pass Railway eked out an existence with gawking tourists of which there

did not seem to be many and heavy shipments of silver ore destined for an American

refinery.

The rails screamed in protest with each turn. Only 107 miles of track between Whitehorse

and Skagway. But what a difference. Whitehorse was Canadian territory where I met

Waler Malecky by chance. Small town atmosphere really.

Now Skagway was something else. First off, it was American territory. Strange in a way.

I had no passport yet at no time was asked to show my identity. I guess the powers that

be figured anyone coming or going from Skagway was no danger to either Canada or

the United States.

The only austere part of the trip other than the yawning chasms was the lone Skeleton of

a Presbyterian church somewhere along the way. A church where once there must have

been congregants. Now as solitary as the moon. A bit chilling.

The trip took longer than I expected. Only 107 mlles….s couple of hours at most I thought.

I should have known better for I had been reading Pierre Berton’s Klondike which

made both passes…the Chilkoot and the Dead Horse Pass…terrifying, dangerous, deadly.

That was my state of mind as the train flattened out for a piece on its final approach

to Skagway. I was a miner. A mining claim tagger. A veteran of the Yukon. Leaving tough,

hard drinking, foul mouthed, humorous and tragic Yukon veterans behind. Yesterday

my boots crashed through that ice foretelling the coming of a Yukon winter.

I often read and re-read Robert Service’s ‘Spell of the Yukon’. Almost memorized. I thought

of the men who sat around our campsites quoting Robert Service by heart. Especially when

their tongues were loosened by Double overproof rum.

I wanted the gold, and I sought it;

I scrabbled and mucked like a slave.

Was it famine or scurvy—I fought it;

I hurled my youth into a grave.

Day dreaming my way down from the Coastal Mountains

to one of the strangest places on earth…Skagway.

Where 100,000 men and a few women rolled the dice

of life’s journey in a hopeless chance to grab the golden

ring of their trip on life’s merry go round.

It is important that readers understand my state of mind.

I was trying to replicate things that happened here in

Skagway sixty years ago…back just before mom and

dad were born. Ancient times.

Skagway. Finally I was there. The intricate plan of my

escape from the Yukon was really happening. Skagway

“a tiny decrepit ghost town given life by a few souvenir shops”

My verbatim Yukon Diary entry.

I bought mom a souvenir plate…$5.50 plus .65 tax or exchange .

What? Everything is going to cost 10% more than I counted upon.

Will I be able to manage? Booked into the Skagway Inn at $4.00

for the night.

Outside the single main street was suddenly full of people. Not men in

torn work pants taking a leak in a ditch. Not the kind of men I knew.

Men in sport clothes with women on their arms. Older people…lots

of them rubber necking their way from souvenir shop to railway cars.

Cameras clicking. People posing beneath a Soapy Smith shop sign.

Why would anyone want a picture of that son of a bitch. His name

was obvious on Skagway storefronts. Did no one know that Soapy

Smith was a murderiing thief who extorted money and goods from

those poor deluded gold seekers. Did no one take joy in the fact

he was shot dead by a justifiably angry fellow? The people of Skagway

back in the gold rush days were little better than Soapy for they grew

wealthy selling goods at inflated prices…buying half-dead horses

from steamships knowing that those horses would soon be overloaded

and plodding up Dead Horse Pass .

There was no hay up there. Those horses were starving. Skagway

was not a town to admire in those times.

I expected an empty town. Now it was suddenly full of people. Where did

they come from. More people than buildings. Skagway was a tiny

sliver of a place. A bit of flatened gravel backed immediately by the

soaring Coastal Mountains. Where did all these people come from? Where will all these people

sleep?

The answer came as I reached the waterfront where a couple of large

sparkling clean passenger ships were anchored. The Lynne Canal is

a long and deep stretch of water snaking inland to Skagway. Perfect

for shipping.

Note: There are 800 or so permanent residents of Skagway today (2021)

but the town is capable of handling 10,000 people daily. Skagway

is the target town for those huge passenger ships ferrying thousands

of tourist up and down the coastal northern waters of Canada

and the United States. Huge ships. In 1962 the ships were not as large

and the volume of tourists was considerably less. But Skagway was

a kind of Mecca nonetheless.

“Suddenly there were crowds of people”…the reason is obvious in this picture. One million

people visit Skagway today. They sleep in that white thing at the end of the Skagway street.

So I joined the crowd. Soon got over the shock. Later in the evening

I even went to the DAYS OF ’98 show put on by Skagway local citizens,

a rather delightful amateur production. Sincere…repeated each night

for the tourists ships that come and go on schedule.

Gambling was another piece of the Skagway mystique. I lost a couple

of dollars. But had fun. Easy to get to know the tourists. They wanted

to meet locals. Wanted to meet descendants of the gold rush throng.

I fitted that image better than most. I had walked those bleak Yukon Hills

in search of silver. I had nursed those Double OP’s with men like

Aaro Aho, Moses Lord, Waler Malecky, Bob Gilroy, Bill Dunn,Bill Scott…Alex, Andy,

Dinky…so many characters.

And I had a full red beard as was expected of a person ‘who moiled for gold’

I had even done some successful gold panning as proved by he specs of gold

on swatches of black electrical tape mailed to Marjorie. The only image that

did not fit was the smell. I had bathed twice…once in Whitehorse and once in

Skagway. I smelled like a tourist awash in Aqua Velva after shave lotion.

There were a couple of poorly disguised patches on my pants which may have

clues that I was one of the Yukoners…a Miner.

I talked with a lot of people. Asked around. Like “how do I get out

of Skagway? There are no roads south to Juneau where I have booked

a flight. One group of young ladies offered to hide me on their big passenger

ship destined for Seattle. They said no one would notice. The offer was made

in jest I think. Not sure Marjorie would be too enthusiastic had I taken the offer

seriously.

But I was very serious. How in hell was I to get out of Skagway. The only road was

north to the the Alaska Highway and on to Anchorage…miles and miles the wrong

direction. I got a bit alarmed when I hit the sack. Needlessly so. The answer

was simple but a little more expensive than I had anticipated.

Expenses (not eligible for expense account)

Train $19.00

Hotel $4.00

Ceramic Plate $6.15 (*Goddamn Tax of .65)

Show, Days of ’98 $1.00

Food $1.65

Stamps and cards .53

Gambling $1.50

This trip was costing more than I had planned

“They’re making my money diminish

I’m sick of the taste of champagne

But I’ll battle on to he finish

And head back to the Yukon again.”

*Funny…I remember this Robert Service fragment

so well that I can almost quote it verbatim now in 2021.

Perhaps one of my readers would like to check my

accuracy. I do not have time for that right now.

I must ‘battle on to the finish’ even though I will

never get the chance “to go back to the Yukon again.”

alan skeoch

Fev. 2021

POST SCRIPT: Some Critics of Robert Service…pompously …accuse

him of doggerel poetry. I think those who love poetry were a little more broad minded

than that. Read this aloud…enjoy it. Forget about metaphors and convoluted meanings.

The Spell of the Yukon

BY ROBERT W. SERVICE

I wanted the gold, and I sought it;

I scrabbled and mucked like a slave.

Was it famine or scurvy—I fought it;

I hurled my youth into a grave.

I wanted the gold, and I got it—

Came out with a fortune last fall,—

Yet somehow life’s not what I thought it,

And somehow the gold isn’t all.

No! There’s the land. (Have you seen it?)

It’s the cussedest land that I know,

From the big, dizzy mountains that screen it

To the deep, deathlike valleys below.

Some say God was tired when He made it;

Some say it’s a fine land to shun;

Maybe; but there’s some as would trade it

For no land on earth—and I’m one.

You come to get rich (damned good reason);

You feel like an exile at first;

You hate it like hell for a season,

And then you are worse than the worst.

It grips you like some kinds of sinning;

It twists you from foe to a friend;

It seems it’s been since the beginning;

It seems it will be to the end.

I’ve stood in some mighty-mouthed hollow

That’s plumb-full of hush to the brim;

I’ve watched the big, husky sun wallow

In crimson and gold, and grow dim,

Till the moon set the pearly peaks gleaming,

And the stars tumbled out, neck and crop;

And I’ve thought that I surely was dreaming,

With the peace o’ the world piled on top.

The summer—no sweeter was ever;

The sunshiny woods all athrill;

The grayling aleap in the river,

The bighorn asleep on the hill.

The strong life that never knows harness;

The wilds where the caribou call;

The freshness, the freedom, the farness—

O God! how I’m stuck on it all.

The winter! the brightness that blinds you,

The white land locked tight as a drum,

The cold fear that follows and finds you,

The silence that bludgeons you dumb.

The snows that are older than history,

The woods where the weird shadows slant;

The stillness, the moonlight, the mystery,

I’ve bade ’em good-by—but I can’t.

There’s a land where the mountains are nameless,

And the rivers all run God knows where;

There are lives that are erring and aimless,

And deaths that just hang by a hair;

There are hardships that nobody reckons;

There are valleys unpeopled and still;

There’s a land—oh, it beckons and beckons,

And I want to go back—and I will.

They’re making my money diminish;

I’m sick of the taste of champagne.

Thank God! when I’m skinned to a finish

I’ll pike to the Yukon again.

I’ll fight—and you bet it’s no sham-fight;

It’s hell!—but I’ve been there before;

And it’s better than this by a damsite—

So me for the Yukon once more.

There’s gold, and it’s haunting and haunting;

It’s luring me on as of old;

Yet it isn’t the gold that I’m wanting

So much as just finding the gold.

It’s the great, big, broad land ’way up yonder,

It’s the forests where silence has lease;

It’s the beauty that thrills me with wonder,

It’s the stillness that fills me with peace.

Robert Service

This shows how small Skagway appears when dwarfed by both luxury ships and the Coastal Mountains.

END … NEXT EPISODE WILL BE

YUKON DIARY THURSDAY SEPT. 13, 2016

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February 2, 2021February 2, 2021

EPISODE 242 YUKON DIARY THE WHITE PASS AND YUKON RAILWAY

EPISODE 242 YUKON DIARY RIDING THE WHITE PASS AND YUKON RAILWAY

alan skeoch

FeB 2021

Wednesday Sept. 12, 1962

Dark and dreary day. Tough day for my ride on the White Pass Railway from Whitehorse

to Skagway. The downhill run. Narrow Gauge railway…3 feet between rails…cheaper

to build than a standard railway. The builders had enough trouble trying to find a route

over the Coastal Mountains. International…toughest part from White Pass to Skagway.

…only 107 miles long. Completed in 1900.

The White Pass and Yukon Railway was just about worn out by 1939…old engines

and old coaches. Relied on freight from Yukon mines…such as Keno Hill, Galena Hill

and others that shipped their concentrate down to Skagway and then by steamships to

refineries in the United States. The Great Depression led to the closing of many mines.

Then came the 1960’s…boom times for everyone.

Opened August 1, 1900

Closed October 2, 1982

Re opened May 24, 1988

NOTE: IN 1963, the year after I left the Yukon, 70 tons of stollen

silver ore was surreptitiously shipped from the Yukon. The story

will be coming shortly. An unbelievable adventure. This stollen silver

or was being moved to hiding spots near Elsa …The thief, Mr. Preist

was arrested by a fluke action taken by a White Pass trucker who wanted

a cup of coffee in Elsa before driving to Whitehorse. Priest was arrested

and testified that “the 70 tons of silver were his because the 70 tons “fell

from the Moon” I had no idea this was happening while we were

doing our survey. The story is riveting.

Commercial operations

Original gauge	3 ft (914 mm)
Preserved operations
Reporting mark	WP&YR
Length	107 miles (172 km) (Skagway to Whitehorse); 67.5 miles (108.6 km) (Skagway to Carcross)
Preserved gauge	3 ft (914 mm)
Commercial history
Opened	August 1, 1900
Closed	October 8, 1982
Preservation history
May 24, 1988	Reopened as The White Pass Route
Headquarters	Skagway, Alaska

WHITE PASS AND YUKON RAILWAY…AND WORLD WAR II

(Critical supply source for the Alaska Highway)

Alaska became strategically important for the United States during World War II; there was concern that the Japanese might invade it, as Alaska was the closest part of the United States to Japan. Following the Attack on Pearl Harbor, the decision was made by the US and Canadian governments to construct the Alaska Highway as an all-weather overland route to ensure communication. One of the principal staging points for construction was Whitehorse, which could be supplied by the WP&YR.

By that time the railroad was a financially starved remnant from Klondike gold rush days, with well-worn engines and rolling stock. Despite this, the railroad moved 67,496 tons during the first 9 months of 1942, more than double its prewar annual traffic. Even this was deemed insufficient, and so the U.S. Government leased the railroad for the duration, effective at 12:01 a.m. on 1 October 1942, handing control to the United States Army. What became the 770th Railway Operating Battalion of the Military Railway Service took over train operations in company with the WP&Y’s civilian staff.

Canadian law forbade foreign government agencies from operating within Canada and its territories, but Japanese forces had occupied some of the Aleutian Islands by this time, and an accommodation was quickly reached to “make an illegal action legal.”

The MRS scoured the US for usable narrow-gauge locomotives and rolling stock, and soon a strange and colourful assortment began arriving at Skagway. The single largest group was seven D&RGW K-28 class 2-8-2’s acquired prior to the lease in August 1942. 2-8-0’s from the Silverton Northern and the Colorado & Southern, all over 40 years old, and a pair of ET&WNC 4-6-0’s soon appeared, among others, as well as eleven new War Department Class S118 2-8-2’s. WP&Y’s original roster of 10 locomotives and 83 cars was soon eclipsed by the Army’s additional 26 engines and 258 cars.

The increase in traffic was remarkable: In the last 3 months of 1942, the railroad moved 25,756 tons. In 1943 the line carried 281,962 tons, equivalent to ten years worth of typical prewar traffic. All this despite some of the most severe winter weather recorded since 1910: Gales, snowdrifts and temperatures of -30 degrees F. succeeded in blockading the line from 5 – 15 February 1943 and 27 January – 14 February 1944.

The peak movement occurred on 4 August 1943, when the White Pass moved 38 trains north and south, totalling 3346 gross / 2085 net tons, and 2236 locomotive-miles in 24 hours.^[33]

ENJOY THE TRIP…THE PICTURES ARE MORE DRAMATIC THAN ANY WORDS

I COULD WRITE.

END EPISODE 242 YUKON DIARY

February 2, 2021February 2, 2021

EPISODE 341 YUKON DIARY: DOING THE YUKON IN REVERSE ORDER: DEAD HORSE GULCH

Note: Sorry this story needs editing but I have no time…trying to do one story each day

EPISODE 341 YUKON DIARY: DOING THE YUKON IN REVERSE ORDER

DEAD HORSE GULCH

alan skeoch

Feb.1 2021

There were two passes to the Yukon. The Chilkoot Pass and the Dead Horse Pass…renamed

the White Pass. I took the latter. There were a lot of dead horses here. I never saw any. Their

bone were now as great as the rocks.

Only due to the lust for gold were these passes found

“There is no route from Skagway to the Yukon.:

“Not so.”, said the Tlinget native.

“Those coastal mountains are impassable.”

“Not so.” said the Tlinget native

“Impassable…no way to reach the Yukon River….Lake Bennett headwaters.”

“Not so.” said the Tlinget naive

“Prove it…show me the way.” said the white man

“Secret trail of my people.”

“Show me.”

“We have traded with the interior people of the HighYukon plateau for many years…through this

pass.”

“Show me.”

And the Tlinget revealed the mountain pass now called the Chilkoot Pass. Steep with

jumbles of loose rock on a formidable incline. Then snow and ice high above the Ocean

far below. Crested slot that then tipped downward to the icy waters of glacial Lake Bennett.

But this was not the end of the trek. Only the beginning. From Lake Bennett the gold seekers

still had 550 more miles to cover if they were to reach Dawson City.

Wednesday Sept. 12, 1962

men working to build a railroad on the side of a steep mountain

Building the White Pass Railway 1890’s

Narrow gauge railroad that goes just about nowhere. Climbs over the Coastal mountains

from tiny inconsequential Skagway by twists and turns…through tunnels that seem rough blasted…over

timbered bridges clinging to Mountainside.

The White Pass moves slowly. As if expecting catastrophe any moment. Screaming braking system

jawing musically as metal on metal maintains the slow descent through Dead Horse Gulch. This is

not the Chilcoot Pass route. The railway follows another somewhat gentler but loner route named

after a long forgotten politician. This is the Dead Horse Gulch Pass.

Chilkoot Pass…no easy trip with 1 ton of supplies per man

In 1897 the Yukon Territory was virtually an unknown land peppered here and there by

natives. Even these people avoided the eastern part of the Yukon in fear of evil spirits that

were living there. A few white trappers and even fewer white placer miners eked out a

shaky existence. Food, other than wild meats, had to be carried over the coastal mountains

or steamed up the Yukon River. Not worth the aggravation was the conclusion of most people.

There were better places. As a result much of the Yukon was an empty land. That changed when the gold fever of the Klondike. And then,

when the easy gold ran out, along came the silver boom at Keno Hill.

White Pass Railway was the route out for the silver ore. Refined in the United States.

Think of the Yukon as a huge tank of water with one tiny spigot at the bottom. The White Pass.

My passenger car was made in 1900 just when the White Pass route was completed

Ancient. Coal stoves for heat in each car. Soft seats now but I bet they were once slatted

seats.

And I bet dollars to donuts the White Pass railroad passed by the piles of dead horses

whose putrifying remains littered the crevices and deep trenches along the way. Dead

Horse Gulch in particular. I strained my eyes expecting to see a boneyard far below

but saw nothing. In 60 to 70 years the bones got as grey as the rocks.

How many horses? Dozens? No. Thousands…perhaps as many as 3,000 horses

died on this so called easier route to Lake Bennett. Terrible stories neglect and

brutality. Many of the men climbing through this Pass knew nothing about horses

and pack saddles. They just strapped the gear to horses backs. When a hundred

pound sack of flour shifted, horses fell over. Often injured horses were killed. I suspect

even this humane act was not done since some horses rolled over and over down

the rock strewn slopes. These thousands of horses were ill treated before they ever

got to Skagway. Jammed bum to bum on steamships. Some already weak and sick.

Best described by Jack London

“The horses died like mosquitoes in the first frost and from Skagway to Bennett they rotted in heaps. They died at the rocks, they were poisoned at the summit, and they were starved at the lakes; they fell off the trail, what there was of it, and they went through it; in the river they drowned under their loads or were smashed to peices against the boulders; they snapped their legs in the crevices and broke their backs falling backwards with their packs; in the sloughs they sank from fright or smothered in the slime; and they were disemboweled in the bogs where the corduroy logs turned end up in the mud; men shot them, worked them to death and when they were gone, went back to the beach and bought more. Some did not bother to shoot them, stripping the saddles off and the shoes and leaving them where they fell. Their hearts turned to stone- those which did not break- and they became the beasts, the men on the Dead Horse Trail.” -Jack London, Journalist. The God of His Fathers, Doubleday Page & Co., New York, 1914, p. 70-80

There are other even more gruesome stories about these horses. Men impoverished and

starving cut slabs from these dead horses for food. Hard to believe? Try starving yourself

to near death and see if your opinions change.

And suppose a great many horses actually survived and made it to the shores of

Lake Bennett. What then? Load them aboard the hand made boats that rafted down

the Yukon To Dawson. Shoot them? Sell them?

Or just abandon the horses…or sell them…or eat them. Horses do wander away unless

fenced. Mares can be captured by stallions. In 1962 there were wild horses here and

there in the Yukon. In small herds of mares with one stallion. Where did they come from.

I think we saw a small string on our trip to Dawson. Almost hidden in the brush.

These horses from Skagway do not look abused. They are hauling goods not

carrying them. Not much room for error here. But no precipices either. Each

man had to show he was brining 1 ton of supplies to Canadian authorities…i.e. Sergeant Sam

Steele of the NWMP otherwise refused entry to Canada’s Yukon Territory.

MY interest was triggered by a misty event on our two day holiday to Dawson City in midsummer.

Three or four of our gang of joyriders were jammed into the back of a Peso Silver half ton truck

for that long 3 to 4 hour jaunt. At one point we noticed movement in the brush at the side of

the road. There was something alive behind the screen of scrub. Several animals…not a single

animal like a moose.

“Could be wild horses, mares with a stallion. Several strings of them

have been sighted. A couple have been hit on the highway around Dawson”

“You must be kidding?”

“Check it out.”

Which is exactly what I did. The wild horses are a concern on the Alaska highway where

they seem to cluster in several strings. Very wiley creatures. Efforts to catch them have failed.

How can horses survive the brutal winters? Simple answer. On each side of the Dawson

Highway are the remains of large hay fields. Yukon summers are full daylight…maybe 16 hours.

Lots still grows in these wild fields. From the gold rush days to the 1930’s horses were

important as a means of transportation. Every 20 or 25 miles of the old Dawson road there

were roadhouses where teamsters could get fresh horses or give their 4 to 6 horse teams a

rest. Some of these roadhouses were decent places. Others were as dirty and neglected as

the hubs of hell. Eventually the internal combustion engine replaced all the horses hauling

goods from Whitehorse to Dawson.

I do not know what happened to those horses. Many would be slaughtered of course…dog food

for sled dogs along with moose. Some just got loose. Turned loose or abandoned. Most would

die but it seems there were…there are….a few stallions with their mares trotting cautiously

through the underbrush of the Yukon. I think I saw a string of them from the back of that

half ton truck.

Now this next comment is a real stretch. Total speculation…ridiculous speculation. It might just

be possible that the wild horses running in the Yukon in 1962 might have been survivors who crawled

up Dead Horse Gulch (White Pass) and survived because their owners knew how to handle a horse

and knew that horses could be useful in the mining business. In the 1920’s there were 98 horses

working on Keno Hill…and at the same time there were far more doing work on the Dawson Road

living in the barns beside those roadhouses.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if those wild horse strings had a genetic connection to Dead Horse Gulch.

Wild horse herds did exist in the year 1962 in the Yukon Territory. In 2010 one of the last herds of

wild Yukon horses was captured and all eleven including the stallion were put up for auction in hope

that some horse lover would want to rehabilitate them…i.e. break them, make them docile. Whether

this happened or not is not mentioned in the CBC news release.

“Animal control officer Paul Heynen said he has spent years trying to capture the Takhini Valley herd of wild horses, but the animals have proven to be elusive.

“I can have a report that they’re out there and I can be there in an hour and they’re gone. You know, they’re just like ghosts … poof, and they’re gone,” Heynen told CBC News.”

These horses were not easy to handle once corralled because the stallion went wild once

fenced in. Lunging at the fences.. Longing to escape. While government officials believed

this was the last herd ofYukon wild horses, many locals believe one or two strings of

them still thrives in hidden places. They are as wily as wolves, never staying long in

one place and therefore difficult to trap.

ANCIENT WILD HORSES OF THE YUKON

Wild horses once commonly roamed the Yukon as has been proven by a bone found by Duanne Froese, an earth

science professor ar the University of Alberta. The bone was found in the permafrost enveloping the

Thistle Creek gold mine about 100 km. south of Dawson City.

in 2013. The bone fragment’s genome once annilysed turned out to be 700,000 years old.

It seems that Horses have thrived in the Yukon for a long long time.

alan skeoch

Feb. 1, 2021

Post Script

Events have a curious way of coming together and making sense. Serendipity is the word. It means a coming together

of seemingly disparate events. Here’s a weird one. In 1963-64, Marjorie (then Hughes) was teaching high school

in Napanee, Ontario. Miles and miles from western Canada. A group of girls joined Marjorie in forming their cell

of the Canadian Wild Horse society. They donated some money to support the survival of wild horses primarily in

Alberta but also in the Yukon. These horses needed protection. The Canadian government considered horses

an introduced species…therefore gave them no protection. Marjorie’s students and other young people, mostly

girls, were assuring that a few herds of wild horses continued to roam through the Rocky Mountain valleys.

I am not sure that is still the case.

February 1, 2021February 1, 2021

NOT BERNIE SANDERS…BUT CLOSE

February 1, 2021February 1, 2021

EPISODE 240 YUKON DAIRY DOING THE YUKON IN REVERS… DEAD HORSE PASS, CHILCOOT TRAIL TO SKAGWAY IN 1962

EPISODE 240 YUKON DIARY DEAD HORSE PASS, CHILCOOT TRAIL TO SKAGWAY IN 1962

TITLE: DOING THE YUKON IN REVERSE

alan skeoch

Jan.2021

Have you ever got so immersed in a dream that you want to live

that dream in real life? No joke. I dream a lot. Good dreams for

the most part . Dreams that I would like to live out in my real life.

That’s the way I felt about the Yukon. Stop. Change the tense from

past to present. That’s the way I feel about the Yukon to this day.

I relive it. All that revelry in the Mayo barroom was a replication of

the Yukon gold rush days … right down to the drunkenness…the story

telling…the indescribable brutal work that was a necessary base to brining

the Yukon tensions and glories of discovery back to life.Vomit, staggering,

laughing, agonizing, fear, joy, triumphs, tragedies. Almost every feeling a human

being can share is there…’Is’ not ‘was’…present not past.

No Yukon replication is complete without the mystique of Skagway.

The brutality of Skagway. So I planned this lonely trek as an integral

part of living out the dream. To not do so would mean the whole Yukon

experience would be truncated. A tree without roots. A dream without

meaning.

Wednesday , Sept. 12, 1962

Arose early today. Nervous that I would miss a connection. I have no watch.

Never have had one. My body usually serves me well if I mentally set my

brain correctly. “Alan, get up early, you must board the White Pass Railway

on its downhill trip to Skagway.” And click…brain lock…woke in time to

get my ticket, $19.00, for the down hill rumble to Skagway…down mountain says it better.

We are descending from theYukon plateau to a tiny village hanging on the hostile glacier clad

shores of the Pacific Ocean. Descending. Imagining how the gold crazed men and s

few women made the trek upwards when there was no railway. Only the impossible near

vertical climb up the Chilcoot Pass. Could I have made that climb? Did I have the guts

and determination those men and women shared. Did I have a thirst for great wealth

the would free me from labour for the rest of my life? Not sure. But I think I could

do it.

Hindu philosophy says “You can have whatever you want in life.” Which forces the

big secondary question. “What do I really want?” Great wealth? Fame? No, I want

to live my life to the fullest. I want to share my life with others. I want to marry

Marjorie as a starter. And one small goal… I want to complete my experience of the Yukon.

And there before me on this day were two passes through the coastal mountains. White Pass, also called the Dead Horse Pass

and the Chilcoot Pass. Men … 100,000 of them had answered the Hindu question. They wanted Wealth and were prepared to

die to get it. Gold. Gold Gold.

I stared at those rocky slopes from my railway car.

FLASH: I thought of those back breaking loads three of us carried on the Groundhog River

job way back in 1959. Loads so heavy that the metal packframes twisted into scrap and

our backs screamed. i thought I could do it. Why would I want to? Fair question. I suppose

the answer makes no real sense. I wanted to prove something to myself. I could take it.

Not pride of strength. But force of will. There comes a time in everyone’s life when there is

challenge where failure and success are both present at the same time. On the Groundhog River

job three of us lived cut off from normal life for nearly three months. I hated and loved that

job in equal measure I failed sometimes and succeeded in other times. I met that wall.

On that job Floyd Faulkner, our crew chief, named me Fucking Al. A compliment. I think

and still do. He did not call me a crybaby…a quitter…

Funny how that all came back to me as our near empty train made its slow descent.

AND NOW I AM DOING THE YUKON IN REVERSE ORDER

Dead horse pass

STORY COMING IN EPISODE 241

CONTINUED IN EISODE 241

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January 30, 2021January 30, 2021

EPISODE 239 YUKON DIARY TUESDAY SEPT. 11, 1962 to Sep[t. 12, 1962 I HAD TO STEAL THE BUS…WITH PASSENGERS

EPISODE 239 YUKON DIARY TUESDAY SEPT 11, 1962 to Sept. 12, 1962 I HAD TO STEAL THE BUS…WITH PASSENGERS

alan skeoch

January 2021

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No yellow line…no pitch black night…this is not the bus I stole but it is the Mayo

Road to Stewart Crossing. And winter is coming a month from now…

Did I have to steal that bus? I really had no choice. Bill Scott had already flown out to Toronto. Job is over.

Either I stay in Mayo Landing and then fly to Toronto via Whitehorse and Edmonton or I steal

the local bus and hightail it to Stewart Crossing, abandon the bus and board the White Pass bus to Whitehorse. This

was not an easy decision. Not something I would normally do. But my intricate plans to see more of the Yukon depended

upon getting to the junction of the Alaska Highway then southbound to Whitehorse. Without this bus all plans would collapse.

I did pay the bus fare…maybe. Here is how it

happened. Hard to forget.

Lazy day in Mayo Landing. My last day. Got all geophysical equipment crated and ready for CPA air freight to Toronto…to be

confirmed when I get to Whitehorse tomorrow.

Tonight at 1a.m. I will board the local bus for the ride

to Stewart Crossing. Then catch the morning bus to Whitehorse. Tight connection. No time to spare. Waiting

for the next bus is out of the question. There is only one bus leaving Mayo Landing. Must get on it.

Had farewell drinks with the boys…walked around Mayo for last time…then joined the boys in the

Chateau Inn for another beer. That should help me sleep on the night bus.

Then I stood outside the Chateau Inn waiting for the bus. Others were there. Not many. I waited in the dark. No bus. Waited more. No bus. ” Jesus, where the hell is the bus? If I don’t get

it tonight all my plans are doomed Where in hell’s half acre is the bus?” I asked Al, the bartender. We had the same first name…knew each other. By now it was 1.30 a.m.

“Where is the fucking bus?”

“Parked over on east side of town, I expect.”

“how in hell will I get to Stewart Crossing in the morning””

“Go and wake the driver…happens often.”

So I walked a distance to the edge of town. And there was the bus..sitting

there. Doors open. Ready. But no driver. I went to knock on his

cabin door but did not make it. He had a bunch…two or three…of sled dogs

on guard. Alsations. Big teeth and slathering mouths. They did not like me at all. Looked hungry or protecting or both.

Bottom line was that I could not awaken the bastard driver. Could not get

close to his house. How in hell would I get out of Mayo Landing tonight.

I tried the bus horn. The bastard would not wake up. And there dangling beside

the horn were the bus keys. Dare i do it? Dare I steal the bus? Bit of a dilemma. Either

I take the bus or I return to Toronto by air. My intricate plans were in jeopardy.

(Readers will not believe my decision. I cannot believed it even now 58 years later. Some

readers will think the whole story is fabricated. Busses are not easy to drive. And taking

a bus without a special licence is a crime. But Al, the bartender, said the bus driver often

misses his schedule. Was Al also inferring that a passenger could take the bus to

Stewart Crossing and someone would drive it back to Mayo? About 53 km.)

I just have this one chance to get to Skagway. Limited funds. Must get back

to Toronto for new academic year. Only a few days leeway. I have already cashed in my

CPA flight … using that money to help me take this great adventure. The dye is cast. So I will take the bus…car theft? No. I have

a ticket. Very lame excuse.

I would just be borrowing the bus…doing the bus driver’ route…a favour…with his customers.

Hardly theft. But deep down I knew these excuses were pretty lame. Finally

I justified my actions just Like a criminal would. “There will be no one of the road

to stop me or know what I was doing.” Traffic on the night road was about nil.

So I turned the key. The motor fired smoothly. I reached for the big handle that closed

the door, slipped in the clutch, shifted to first gear…eased out the clutch and the great

big bus began to move.

The passengers were waiting at the hotel. Same place I had been waiting. I pulled up

opened the door with the hand lever and said “Anyone going to Stewart Crossing?” About

four or five people…I forget how many…stepped up and found a seat without comment

or worry. This must have happened before.

The is only one road from Mayo to Stewart Crossing. I think there was a nice yellow

line for me to follow. Not sure of that. Once we got rolling there was no looking back. I did not say

good bye to my crew. They were all in bed. We had said our farewells

and they assumed I was on the road to where I would meet the morning bus to Whitehorse

at Stewart Crossing…about two hours away.

That was a long time ago. And my memory could be faulty.. Was I nervous? Probably

but there was no time for worry. I had to follow … to straddle at times…that yellow line.

No speeding But no delay either. If I was late at Stewart Crossing my morning bus

to Whitehouse would be gone and then I would really be in s pickle.

The night was black. Traffic was nil I think. Drivers preferred the Mayo road in

daylight in case an errant moose got in the way at night. That was a bit of a thought

so I kept my foot ready to brake. But nothing happened Once in third gear I never

changed gears until I geared down at Stewart Crossing.

My passengers disembarked without comment. Some nodded acknowledging the theft with

amused gratitude, I think some were First Natons

people but unsure. This theft was a non event. It had happened before.

It was daylight when we pulled into Stewart Crossing So I must have driven

very slowly. Not as heroic I guess.

We met the southbound bus with a little time to spare but not much. I asked the

garageman aT Stewart Crossing where to put he bus. He shrugged and gave a

laconic “Over there, out of the way.” So this must have happened before. My

worry that the RCMP would nab me before I got to Whitehorse seemed less

and less likely.

Boarded the White Pass bus with my riders and sank into a

double seat to grab some shut eye. Relief and fatigue. We rolled into

Whitehorse around 11 a.m. Arranged with the CPA agent to pick up

our Turam equipment in Mayo Landing and ship it to Dr. Paterson in Toronto.

Signed into he Capital Hotel and went to sleep. Awoke at 3.30 pm and had a nice

hot bath and then a roast beef dinner at the Taku Motel where I met Walter Malecky…drunk

but still a fascinating man. One of the really famous old timers. Extroverted close

friend of Moses Lord. We had a drink.

Later in the evening Went to the movies to see ‘All Fall Down’…good. Then read

a little more of ‘To Kill a Mocking Bird’ before dozing off. Quite a day. I was now

totally on my own. Skagway here I come.

The strangest sensation settled over me. Loneliness. Being alone is not too much

fun. I wonder how drunk the boys are now back in Mayo Landing. Do I wish I was

back there? Time moves on. I got the distinct feeling that my adventures would

always be centred in Keno Hill. Hell, that was one of the big reasons I wanted

to get to Skagway, then Juneau. Just opposite Juneau is Douglas Island where

one of the great North American mining disasters happened. The Treadwell Mine

disaster. And that disaster

cut Livinston Wernecke loose. And he became a legend that cannot die. Without him

Keno City would never have had those boom years of hookers, alcohol,…his story

is still to come.

Expenses

Hotel $5.00

Meals $5.50

Taxi $2.00

Phone calls .20

January 30, 2021January 30, 2021

WHAT A GREAT REWARD … TO BE READ…TO BE ENJOYED…TO BE VALUED

HI…TO THOSE WHO HAVE BEEN READING MY EPISODES….NOW AT 239
Dan and Thom and Marjorie (of course) and Rosalind and Pat and John and Owen and Dirk and Rooter…so many others … have sent me notes saying they were sad to see the Yukon Diary is coming to a close. What a nice thing to say. Sometimes I worry that my writing is a little too earthy for sensitive ears. Writers should write about what they know and that is what I have tried to do. There are still 6 or 7 more Yukon Episodes so the Yukon will continue. And then afterwards…perhaps Slovakia in the year when the Soviet Union collapsed or South Korea whose people may have hopped from island to island to North America by boat while others crossed the Bering land bridge thousands of years ago…or my First Class journey with big Red Stevenson…no end to the stories.
My diary is so explicit that at times I feel my comments go too far. Your support is very important to me. Several of you think I am writing a book. I am not. Books are not read often. And the work writing a book often kills the spark…dampens the fire…puts out the fire. Writing Episodes is better for I actually know my readers. And, yes, I know those of you who do not read the Episodes…I do know but send them anyway.
Years ago I was co author of a particular Canadian history book. My assignment was Quebec in the 1950’s. I was in Chibougamau on my first survey job when I was in Grade eleven. I saw hatred that summer… in the form of a butcher knife vibrating in front of me at it was slammed into a table….I saw a young girl my age about to launch into a career of prostitution…I saw what made the Quiet Revolution. I wrote about that summer. Guess what happened? Right! The real gutsy stuff that had meaning was edited out… scraps on the cutting room floor. When asked to write part of the second edition, I refused. They did not want me anyway.
I much prefer to write to you.
Many of you are still stuck in those goddamn isolated homes, rooms, condominiums…I hope my stories allow your minds to fly elsewhere … to be with me on different facets of life’s journey.
Thanks for hanging around. You do not really have much choice. The Pandemic has got you…like a twist in your underwear.
alan
P.S. Sometimes just a couple of words can trigger a verbal avalanche…mammoth tooth, pebbly conglomerate, Daisy the Labrador, Grandma’s triumph over Parkinson’s, fanning mill, butterfly, snapping turtle, childbirth, Sikorsky S52 helicopter, Bunmahon copper caves, North Bay romance, Halifax Blonde Bomber, Arnold Red Skeoch…no end to these word triggers. Events that harbour both humour and tragedy. That is not just true of me…it is true of each of you.

January 29, 2021January 29, 2021

EOISODE 238 YUKON DIARY TAGGING CLAIMS…SOUNDED EASY…SQUISH,SQUISH,SQUISH MY POOR FEET

EPISODE 238 YUKON DIARY TAGGING CLAIMS..SOUNDED EASY…SQUISH,SQUISH,SQUISH…MY POOR FEET!

alan skeoch

January 2021

Monday Sept. 10, 2021

Up at 7, breakfast at Luigi’s then met Bob Gilroy after arranging flight

from Juneau to Vancouver … planned my exit adventure … getting from Mayo

Landing to Juneau…(I really did not know how to do it)

We then drove to Silver Titan camp to pick up the claim tags…also

a blazing axe, compass, skinning knife and rifle (30.30) Knife did not

make much sense. Drove to the McQueston flats for day of tagging

claims…if I could find the base lines. All alone in the silence of an oncoming

winter. There was an inch or more of ice in the swamps and most of

the tagging was in surface water. I wanted to be quiet lest a bear get

wind of me. Not possible. Each step cracked a slab of ice. Lots of sound.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

This is the way I would meet a bear I imagined. In truth bears stayed away

from humans. We do not smell good.

Worse still was the water that percolated through the holes in my

gum rubbers and over the tops on occasion. Goddamned cold. Best

thing, however, was to keep moving once I found the base line

leading to the claim posts. This was no picnic…no easy money…this

was as bad or worse than conducting the Turam survey. Worse,

because I was all alone. I guess that was why Bob gave me the

rifle. Jesus! I never fired rifle except once in western Alaska when we were

armed in case of Kodiak bear attacks. We dumped the rifles because

the Kodiaks were stuffing their guts with dead salmon. No danger.

And we were dropped into our location by an S 52 Sikorsky helicopter.

Airborne rescue could be fast.

Here I was alone. Not too sure I even found the old base line. Seemed

to be some blazes but they were old. And I was cold. This was a winter

day in the Yukon…sept. 10, 1962.

Trying to follow an old claim line was sometimes like the proverbial needle in a haystack.

But I did find the claim posts more by chance than design. The best kind of

claim post is a living tree that has been decapitated and marked by axe slices

on two sides. One side faces the direction of the claim…the other faces the

direction where the other claim post can be found. Two claim posts. At one time these posts

had fresh slices…easy to see. After a year these slices had turned Grey

and the spruce gum had oozed our\t as if trying to scab the wound.

Every year the claims had to be tagged to indicate work had been done

on the claim. No work had been done on any of these claims. No one had

been in here for some time. Later i discovered that in lieu of work the

claimer could pay $100 which is what seems to have happened on these

Silver Titan claims.

While miserable I was at the same time rather proud of myself. Bob Gilroy

thought I knew what I was doing. He did not know that I had never

staked or tagged mining claims in my life. But I did it. Took a full

day of squishy squishing my way through these swamps and forests

of stunted Yukon spruce. But I did it. And I sure needed whatever

extra money they paid me. “Be bold, Alan, pretend you know what

you are doing…and you may discover that you do know who you are doing.”

My feet were as wet as the feet on these moose. They were designed for that.

I was not. (see postscript)

Made my way…squish, squishing…back to the road at 4.30. No one there.

Walked …squish,sguishing…for 2.5 hours until I met Steve and his

truck heading for Mayo. No supper. Met Bill Scott and Alex Doulis

who were in a fine good mood fuelled by rum I assumed. Good to see

them. My feet were tingly at first but soon became normal.

Ate a can of cold pork and beans as a supper around 9.

Reported to Bob Gilroy and drew a rough map of the tagging. around 8 p.m.

Then Mrs.

Gilroy cooked me a nice T bone steak around 9 …(did not mention the pork and beans

consumed earlier). Packed gear in back of truck and drove to Hutton’s where

I had my personal stuff weighed and shipped home. From this point I will

be travelling light.just clothes on my back, my camera and diary.

Dropped in at the bar at 10 p.m. where Bill awaited with a couple of drinks.

Met Fred Carter who wanted me to see his 35mm slides. Great pictures

including interior of the Dawson City church which was slowly sinking into

the permafrost…weird to see sunday school basement with chairs and lecturns

half covered by clear ice…sort of unsettling. Other pics, of course, of live bears.

Then we went back to the

bar to drink that dreaded ‘double OP’ with Fred and Jim Moran.

All in all the day was better at the end than it was at the beginning and

the middle.

Now, if anyone asks me about staking mining claims I can assume

the posture of a veteran.

Expenses Food … Shipping personal gear $10.52

Post script: MY FEET

Friction between underbrush and my gum rubbers was hard on my feet. Eventually the gum rubbers

got holes in them. Rub!Rub! Rub! Sometimes I stepped on what I thought was solid ground and found my foot

submerged in water. Slosh! slosh! slosh! I got used to it. On the Alaska job I was lucky if a pair of rubber boots lasted

three weeks. Dr. Paterson was persuaded to foot the bill for new rubber boots on that job. The

Yukon job was similar but I Kept my mouth shut. Who wants to appear to be a suck? Even when my feet were protesting. When the

summer ended my feet were as white as ivory and as pock marked as a No Hunting sign targeted

by a shot gun. Skin could be peeled. This final claim staking job was the worst for my feet but

that was clearly my own fault. I know this sounds trivial. Not so. Do an experiment. Walk around

for a few days with water in your boots . Water that starts off cold but soon becomes heated by

our body temperature. The result is not pretty.

January 29, 2021January 29, 2021

Fwd: EPISODE 234 YUKON DIARY SUNDAY AUUST 26, 1962 TO sept. 9, 1962

Begin forwarded message:

From: ALAN SKEOCH <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>

Subject: EPISODE 234 YUKON DIARY SUNDAY AUUST 26, 1962 TO sept. 9, 1962

Date: January 27, 2021 at 10:54:40 PM EST

To: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>

EPISODE 234 YUKON DIARY SUNDAY AUGUST 26, 1962 TO Sept 9,1962

alan skeoch

Jan. 2021

Mystery photo. Either taken at beginning of Yukon job (i.e. no beard on my face) or at

a later job on North Shore of Lake Superior. Camps always similar. First set up sleeping

tent…then latrine…then construct kitchen furniture for kitchen tent.

Each camp needed a kitchen which I got good at constructing. Hope you agree. When we

left one camp for another I do not remember what happened to our food supply. Given away’

I think…but not the rolled oats or the peanut butter or the pork and beans. This picture looks like

an advertisement for Minute Rice.

I cannot be sure where this kitchen camp was located. My green and black bush shirt was with me in the Yukon. But this camp

kitchen looks too well stocked for the Yukon job.

By end of job I had nice full red beard

I am wearing the same green and black bush jacket as first photo…but have beard. This bush camp is not as neat however.

Sunday August 25, 1962

8 a.m. Had coffee at Luigi’s and drove to Silver Titan where Dick, the Japanese cook,

insisted I have bacon and eggs with all trimmings.

A very dreary day with no one around. I unloaded part of the Turam gear

then continued on to Rio Plata where Bill Scott made me another hot rum

and we continued packing the Turam gear. Axe and I then drove on up

to Jack Acheson’s to pick up the huge Mammoth tooth.

We got into a fierce rainstorm back at the Rio Plata camp. Dumped all

the Turam gear at Silver Titan and then drove to town for supper and

a shower.

Hans Bahr is very excited about the anomalies we found on their property.

Axe and Bill Scott are still very sick. Axe paid back the $30 he borrowed in Whitehorse.

Monday, August 27, 1962

Packed my crate full of antlers and ancient miners tools…shipped to Toronto…100 pounds

cost me $33.00…had supper with Gilroys then drove back north to Silver Titan camp

using Ruth McGurlay’s truck, Nice supper cooked by Dick.

Got boys together…Terry Doubt and Bill Andrechuck. Bill Dunn showed me his

new dog…part wolf. And his new car, a 1951 Pontiac, How can he afford a car even if

11 years old? Amusing character.

We drove into a new property North of us and began assembling the equipment in

another new camp…a loose term as a camp is always short term and not pretty.

Andy brought a bottle of Lindemsn’s Port to celebrate our new location.

Expenses meals $3.50. tape $2.20

Tuesday August 28, 1962

Up at 7.30 with long day ahead of us.Terry and I packed grounding rods and reel of cable

to the south end of Base Line #1. Back to camp to do same for North end of BL #1.

Built a table then settled down by candlelight. Traded stories in evening as usual.

Seems that bush camp workers have a never ending number of stories some of which

might even be true. The hookers of Keno City in the 1920’s are favourite subjects.

Wed. August 29, 1962

Up at 6, out by 7.45 in pouring rain. Managed to get 12 lines done which is half the property.

Both Terry and Andy are good men in the bush…no complaining. The wet bush makes work

really miserable. A big fire and billy can of tea was nice at lunch. (Billy can is just a fruit can with wire

for hanging over open fire).

Picture taken in late August as the trees are beginning to change colour…Fall season is short…then winter.

Came across 20 blue geese as tame as chickens

In the evening Terry and I made beds from long poles. Cooked by candlelight…not good.

Got some custard ready and we all ate from the pot.

Picked up large anomaly…largest yet in the Yukon.

Thursday August 30, 1962

UP at 7, out by 8…finished B.L #1…12 lines. A wet long day. Terry tells some damn good

stories…i.e. the bear that nearly got him on a glacier….and the girls he had success with.

Went to bed at 6.30 … telling each other stories in the dark.

Bill Scott is working in the other tent using our Coleman lantern. Andy decided to cook apples

tonight but pot boiled over. Bit of a mess. Applesauce was edible. Overall things are fine now that we have a tin wood

stove in the tent as nights are getting colder.

Terry regaled us with with story of a woman he met in Haileybury, Ontario. Funny. Sensitive. Terry

knows my friend Bob Tyson back in Ontario. Laughed a lot in the darkness.

Diary…now reconstructed after 58 years.

Friday August 31, 1962

Slept late…9.30…then got fellows up for a hasty breakfast. Ice in the water bucket . Rolled up Base Line #1

and laid out Base Line #2. Packed in the motor generator and got everything working …even managed

to do 4 lines finishing at 6.30 pm. Not pleasant. We are not tourists…work to do.

Extremely cold weather. We needed a big fire at noon just to get warm.

Andy is really bitching today as he wants to get back to Mayo Landing tomorrow evening as

his First Nations woman wants him back fast. Not sure how true that is…he drinks a lot.

Terry gave a whole load of tips on women. True? Maybe. Bill Scott gave all of us Hot Rum

drinks while Terry read poetry of Robert Service.

The Northern Lights lit up the night sky tonight…flashing across the darkness like lightning bolts.

Our dinner plates were frozen to the table before we had time to dry them. Now that is cold.

Stacked up pile of firewood in our tent. We will try to keep stove going all night. Must be careful as

stove is just tin plate…could get red hot and very dangerous.

Trying to pound in grounding rods … snow and ice on the ground.

Saturday Sept. 1, 1962

Up at 6 and got out in bush by 7.30. Finished C.L. # 3 by noon. Had good lunch of cold french

toast and bacon…and hot tea over the bush fire.

Andy is determined to get to Mayo Landing … decided to hike over the mountain to Silver Titan

leaving us at noon. Terry and I pulled ground rods and coiled cable. Bill Scott helped

carry out some of the load. Terry and I heard a scream and rushed down the trail thinking

Bill was in trouble. Instead we met Bill and Mr and Mrs. Gilroy drinking beer. Bill gave

me a can of beer and a pile of mail.

We put our food up in a cache where bears could not get it then packed out several loads

of the heavy equipment. I ripped the ass out of my pants again so had to keep facing

Mrs. Gilroy.

Terry and I hopped in the back of the Gilroy truck…a bitterly cold northern night. We stopped

at Elsa for beer then drove on to Mayo Landing…delighted the little girls there…so cute…then

dinner at Luigi’s and a drink with Andy and Ted in the Silver Inn. Quite tragic to see Andy’

so drunk…and Ted sitting there in his own urine as it trickled down his leg to the floor and out the door.

Met Henry Robachuk who offered me a set of caribou antlers. Amazing how many friends i now

have in Mayo Landing…end of third month here.

(Note: I got the Antlers from Henry and not from Moses as previously mentioned…or

maybe they were both involved in the gift(

Expenses $1.85 meals

Sunday September 2, 1962

Packed some of our gear. Visited Mrs Moses and bought moccasins….$20 for two pair…Took

load of waste to the dump. Gilroys…then visited Mrs.Robachuk and got the caribou antlers.

Bob Gilroy bought a case of beer from the bootlegger and gave each of us a can. Poor Bob

Gilroy is an alcoholic which is very hard on Mrs. Gilroy who is a very kind and extroverted French

Canadian lady. Bob is great guy…charismatic…but wonder about his future.

Drove back to the Silver Titan camp where Dick, the cook, fed us all … seemed surly today.

Too much alcohol around today. Mrs. Gilroy and the little girls Patricia and Susan fled in tears.

(*Note: As mentioned earlier Mrs. Gilroy committed suicide around Christmas time in 1962.

I was informed by some of the boys still in Mayo Landing. Alcohol would not be a reason…

but would be a complicating factor..

I wondered what would happen to those two little girls)

Mayo Landing airport

Monday Sept. 3, 1962

Dick had great breakfast for us today. Then I washed 8 pair of dirty socks before starting

work.

Terry and I packed motor generator, 2100 feet of coiled wire, 4 rods, sledge, etc. into the

old C.L. #2 of Silver Titan in preparation for a day of Turam work.tomorrow. Too many

swamps to slosh through…water is icy.

Northern lights are spectacular.

When drive shaft falls out; Bill Scott giving advice … note U. of T. Engineerng jacket.

Bill Scott

Bill Scott…first day on the job in June.

Tuesday Sept. 4, 2021

Up ar 6…cook provided

6 slices of bacon, 2eggs,2 pancakes, 3 cups of orange juice

and coffee.

Terry Doubt, Jim Coyle and I packed carried rest of Turam equipment in to C.L.#2 at

Silver Titan. Started motor generator and read lines 10, 15, 17, 20 on East side of loop.

Left off line 18 because 10 degrees off proper grid. Survey error.

Packed equipment uphill to the road. No easy matter as each of us had 60 to 70 pound

packsacks. Poor John Coyle had just come off a two to three week bender…drunk in other

words. We really thought he would have a heart attack, We Left packs at side of road and hiked

into town.

Bill Dunn reported we can expect snow any time…for sure next week. Bill Scott got

us another hot rum drink … for all crew.

Nights are getting very cold.

Wednesday Sept. 5, 1962

Snow. All pipes and pails with water now frozen. Steve drove us to job site. Then Jim Coyle,

Jack Gillis, Terry Doubt and I packed Turam equipment in to the new prperty which is very wet…swampy.

Did lines 132, 134, 134, 128, 126, 122….all west lines.

Feels like December back home. Ice on all the small ponds, snow flurries most of the day.

Did all my washing in the wash basin in evening. Two letters from Marjorie Now starting to

get serious about plans to return home..the long way rather than the direct flight from Whitehorse.

I want to get the full Yukon experience which means Skagway…need to know more about the

Treadwell mine disaster on Douglas Island near Juneau. Know so little about these big events

that are keyed to a man called Livingston Wernecke. Hope to discover.

Thursday Sept. 6, 1962

Motor trouble today…likely dirty gas. Cleaned the carburetor. Broke the governor by accident.

scraped carb with a spoon. Walked out to road and borrowed Hans Buhr’s Land Rover then

on to Elsa for repairs. Had the master mechanic do some spot welding on the governor..excelent job.

Hard drive back to camp then walked down Proctor’s Road to site…not much of a road, more like a track..

put things back together

and completed the layout…116, 118, 120, 124, all on west side of base line.

I feel relieved..proud of myself getting repairs done and survey done But my legs

are very sore.

I hope I can get some work on the side for the next few days…tagging claims for Hans Buhr…I will

need the money for my escape route from the Yukon. It will be a tight trip. Have some money but

not enough. Will take a chance anyway…be a shame to miss Dead Horse Pass, Skagway,

Juneau…all landlocked places…mysterious places.

Friday, Sept. 7, 1962

Muggy day…reclaimed cable from BL #3 and talked with Hans Burr in morning. Read book in pm.

Our last day and Silver Titan was slow and uncomfortable.

Pleasant feeling now job is over and the weight of the world off my shoulders.

This has been fascinating job but very stressful at times. Yukon hills are not hills. They are

6,000 foot mountains.

Drove to Mayo Landing with Steve Rudnicki … slept on floor of the Tim-o-Lou Motel basement.

Visited Bob Gilroy and got job tagging claims for a day…a little extra money.

Had a Tom Collins at the bar and later a glass of sauterne white wine and shot of

rye with Bob Gilroy…hard on my stomach I fear…gut ache.

Have got really attached to Mayo Landing and all the characters I have met…even

the drunks. Often drinkers have nice personalities.

Saturday Sept. 8, 1962

My idea of sleeping on he floor was not a good idea….bad night. Had breakfast

at Luigi’s. Dirk and Ray were there. Dirk put on quite a show by vomitting…food

poisoning…mild.

Bill Scott and I went to the airport to make sure the bags got away. Cold, bleak

day in the Yukon. Later we went back to the Gilroys and jointly presented a bottle

of sauterne ($4.50) which may not have been a good idea. Perhaps better than

a bottle of rye whisky though.

I arranged to take the little girls, Patricia and Susan to the movies after our

supper at Luigi’s The show was terrible…John Wayne at his worst…killing Indians.

Patricia fell asleep. Susan seemed happy about the movie.

Bob Gilroy showed us his new discovery on Silver Titan…good stock market

opportunity for us but we had no money. Stock tips are to always accurate.

Expenses $5.50

Sunday Sept. 9, 1962

My last Sunday morning in Mayo Landing. Had biscuits for breakfast, read a little…in

afternoon I helped Bob Gilroy cutting brush.

Made arrangements to do the tagging of claims.

…What a nightmare that turned out to be…ice about an