Year: 2021

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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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

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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.

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

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.

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).

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.

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.

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)

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.

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

inch or two thick in the swamps where claim posts were located.

…feet freezing wet…silence…armed with a rifle and compass…so

even my final work day in the Yukon was no picnic.   We arrived  in

the Yukon two weeks after the ice was swept down the Stewart 

River…and  we left the Yukon as  the ice began  to return…3 months

later.  Now there is  One nice event though!  The goddamn mosquitoes froze to death.

YUKON DIARY   to Sept. 9, 1962..END  OF THE JOB.

NEXT EPISODE:   PERSONAL  PLANNED ESCAPE FROM THE YUKON