EPISODE 222 YUKON DIARY friday Jul 6 to July 15, 1962
alan skeoch
Jan. 2021
Note: Some readers will be irritated by the immaturity of these diary entries. Juvenile might be a word
used. Please remember that these are diary entries. This is not a laundromat list. We were all
young men in our 20’s doing very hard work at times and at other times totally relaxing with the
assistance of alcohol…beer for the most part. Two of the fellows had received Dear John letters
from girlfriends and were very upset. I can’t think of anyone who was married. I was closest to being
married, Marjorie sent boxes of cookies and cake regularly which the boys all enjoyed. We really had
some good times together. So memorable that they are quite fresh in my mind now 58 years later.
Women were the subject of some conversation but not much. Keno City had been the centre
of Yukon prostitution in the 1920’s and1930’s but we were there in the 1960’s and never saw
a woman in town. Population now 20 people. Hardly mentioned. Bottom line, we were a bunch of strangers suddenly
thrown together. Young men who decided to make the best of a very tough job. Alcohol flowed
freely. That much is true. My boss, Dr. Paterson, back in Toronto will not be surprised at our antics
since he life in the bush was similar. He might be upset at our purchase of a case of beer
on the company dime when the job was over and we invited all the fellows to our tent. If so, he
can send the bill. I think a case of beer cost $4.10 in 1962.
Three or four of us rode to Dawson City in the back of this half ton truck in bad weather…goddamned cold. The trip took more than
three perhaps four hours, maybe longer because the Alaska Highway was still gravel…unpaved…making 50 mph seem like speeding.
Friday July 6, 1962
Sure hated to crawl out of my sleeping bag this morning…to the sound of
that goddamn gong Len and I g0t out early as a result but little progress made
because the switch box kept cutting out. I sent for Bill Scott to make sure the
relay was stayed depressed. Len and I only got six lines done…2.2 miles.
The mosquitoes were fierce. Water bottles soon emptied in the heat. And the sun beat down on
us unmercifully
Five of the lads left tonight for a secret staking project … sounds big.
Saturday, July 7, 1962
Shipment of food arrived late last night. we had a good day and covered
12 line miles.
WHAT WAS IT LIKE DOING A BUSH SURVEY? TAKE A LOOK;
Try walking through this dense bush carrying 3 or 40 pounds of sophisticated technology. Then do it every day for weeks
at a time. What you cannot see are the bugs…creatures that loved human blood. What you cannot hear is the language…
@$%#%^ !!! What you cannot eat is our lunches…cold French Toast with jam, hot tea.
Sunday July 8, 1962
Looks like rain, smells like ran, but no rain. Tried to work but only covered
1 mile before the rain came down. Soaked to the skin. Returned to camp for a nice warm lunch
at the cook shack Slept most of afternoon until my bed collapsed again
so I turned to letter writing
Supper was great…turkey and lemon meringue pie. Traded stories with
Paddy the cook until 7 when he did the dishes and I tried to fix my
goddamn bed.
This is our cook at the Peso Silver bush camp preparing a turkey dinner for one supper. Dessert was lemon Meringue pie. Not bad
for a camp with no access road but a rough stream bed and then a Cat bulldozer.
Monday July 9, 1962
Did 1.28 line miles…finished layout so began coiling cable for the rest of the day
Len drove our Power Wagon through the bush to pick up our equipment…possible
to do that since the land was covered with shrubs and small trees. The Power Wagon
loves obstacles. Returned
to camp exhausted. Nice supper and a good wash lifted my spirits. Fellows showed
some of our camp slides in the evening. Some were funny like Paddy nude on
snowshoes, Dick taking a crap…sounds silly I know but we got some laughs
and no one hurt.
Got mail from Marjorie and Dave Spilman who is in Anchorage, Alaska, …he
invited me to his wedding in Seattle in six weeks. Cannot afford that.
Hugh Naylor is quite upset…crying after receiving a Dear John letter from
his girlfriend
Tuesday, July 10, 1962
Got crew out early today. Finished C.L. #5…4,700 line feet. Pulled grounding rods
and coiled cable. Moved to C.L. #6 setting grounding rods.
Kelly has severe stomach problem…nothing we can do about it. . packed equpment along the ridge.
In the evening I got some lumber to make my packing crate for the artistically
burned logs…used swede saw to shorten much to amusement of camp.
Wednesday July 11, 1962
Last day in the bush here…10,300 line feet or 2.06 miles. The bugs were really vicious
today in the oppressive heat. In the evening I packed up the Turam along with my
Yukon logs.
I carried this log back to camp and plan to ship part of it home. The growth rings are tiny which means the tree is
ancient. One immense forest we cut through was filled with these dead trees…killed by a forest fire and preserved.
We bought 24 beers and had open house in our tent from 8 p.m. Boys pleasantly high
so I read “The Cremation of Sam McGee” which was fun. Hugh Naylor opened a
can of beer that had been shaken…beer all over his face. Then Hugh and I
read “The Spell of the Yukon” in unison…lots of fun and laughter.
expenses $4.10 for beer shared with Rio Plata, Silver Titan and our own Hunting
Tech Crew…seemed like a business expense.
Thursday July 12, 1962
Len, Neil and i reclaimed cable and packed out to camp the motor generator…heavy.
Packed rest of company equipment in afternoon , had nice last supper in cook shack.
Then 8 of us piled into the GMC half ton truck…5 in the back…and drove to Mayo Landing.
The ride was bloody awful. Bud and I slipped off twice. No danger because no speed.
Road is a disaster. Took 3 hours to get to Mayo
and when we arrived we felt dizzy. Road terrible.
Signed into the Tim-O-Lou Motel for the night then hit the Chateau Inn bar. Whole night
of celebrating the Glorious 12th of July with the Northern Irish boys. The boys kept
bringing me beer until I was very drunk. Left the Chateau Inn around 1 a.m. to find
Bill had locked me out of our Motel room. Met Buddy Rich in front of the Roman Catholic
church drinking a can of beer.
Then met an old person, crippled, staggering down the gravel road. Drunk. Poor fellow also
had no place to sleep so I carried him to the Chateau Inn and placed him in a chair
for the night. The bartender, Al, phoned the Motel manager and got him to let
me into our room where Bill Scott was asleep. Drunk and angry.
Friday, July 13, 1962
The boys from Peso Silver arrived and shook us out of bed. I feel a little queasy…uneasy.
DAWSON CITY BOUND. Dressed quickly and jumped in the back of the Peso silver half ton truck.
Heading to Dawson City for the week end with Hugh, Dirk, Fred, Ron and Bill…six of us.
Marjorie sent me two parcels one of which had 2 dozen cookies which we ate immediately.’
Cold drive to Dawson City…dusty road. Bill and I signed into the Occidental Hotel
and the Peso boys unloaded all their gear in our room. I went to a movie alone while the’boys
all got tickets for Foxy. since I had already seen the play once I was reticent to part
with $5 for a second visit. The movie was strange… a western where cowboys killed
Indians. Odd since the people in the theatre were mostly First Nations people.
Later I joined the fellows in the Westminster Bar and did what most people here seem to
do…drink too much…Bud, Pat, Len and I had a marvellous time laughing and
carrying on … I woke up sleeping in the bathtub in our room … all six slept
in the room…most of us on the floor. One of the guys crawled into the room
through the transom above the door. That much I remember. The room was
not very big…about 12 feet by 12 feet. We laughed a lot and believe it or
not I had a good sleep.
Expenses Meals $5.50
Robert Service House in Dawson City
Saturday July 14, 1962
Arose early. No hangover. That was a surprise. Hugh was as sick as a poisoned
dog. Ron and I wandered around Dawson for a while much of which I had already
seen. Strange thing was we talked philosophy…Emanuel Kant’s Categorical
Imperative. Seemed to fit our shenanigans.
SHOCK!
Dirk informed us we would have to drive back to Mayo Landing immediately as
all were needed for a new staking project. Seemed we had just arrived and
then were frantically packing to head back on long road to Mayo in the
truck. Piled our bags on top of those of us in back of the truck…goddamn cold.
We did manage to buy a case of beer, some thick wedges of cheese, some
Spanish Onions and a couple of boxes of crackers. Fine dining. While
driving 160 miles in back of the truck. Tore the ass out of my work pants
somehow as we sifted along at 60 m.p.h. Rather exciting if foolish.
We signed back in at the Tim-O-Lou Motel and then went to
see the movie ‘The Hanging Tree’ at the Oddfellows Hall. Then Len
asked us up to his room for a drink. His room in the Chateau Inn
was well stocked with alcohol…whisky vodka, wine. Len is a
really pleasant guy.
I know this entire to Dawson city sounds stupid but we were all
young and foolish enjoying each others company. Imagine driving 160
miles to Dawson City then rushing 160 miles back to Mayo Landing
the next day…all in the back of a half ton truck.
Expenses. $5.40 meals
Sunday July 15, 1962
Up early and cooked my breakfast…tinned meat we called Clap, crackers, coffee,
orange juice…from a lunch I packed up on the Peso Silver job. Spent the day
resting, reading, writing letters…and sleeping.
Supper consisted of can of sardines, can of pork and beans, crackers, cheese,
tea and orange juice. Then visited Pat, Bud and Dinky in Pat’s room. Beer.
I heard some delightful stories about Dinky’s trap line and the sad story about
his tribal death from whooping cough. Dinky told story about fellow who
shot a moose when horns were ‘in velvet stage’ which he ate as you would
a banana. Also story about Moose Nose jelly…a delicacy. Yuck!
DINKY is the last living member of his tribe. He must mean his family but he says tribe. We estimated his age on an
earlier job…most said 21 but Dinky says he is 51 years old. Nice guy. Quiet until conversations get rolling
See the velvet on the Moose antlers. Now imagine eating the life a banana.
Then Bud told story about bear who got in bed with him and a can of jam.
All agreed that the danger of atomic warfare …the bomb…was both
fearful and ridiculous.
Expenses sardines, pork and beans.
END EPISODE 222 YUKON DIARY JULY 6 TO JULY 15, 1962
POST SCRIPT
CREMATION OF SAM MCGEE BY ROBERT SERICE
Some people who never see the rough side of life think that those living
on the edge of creation are tough nasty people. Quite the reverse. Imagine
spending an evening reading poetry and enjoying it. Life is good.
The Cremation of Sam McGee
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam ’round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he’d often say in his homely way that “he’d sooner live in hell.”
On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka’s fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we’d close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn’t see;
It wasn’t much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o’erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and “Cap,” says he, “I’ll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I’m asking that you won’t refuse my last request.”
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn’t say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
“It’s the cursèd cold, and it’s got right hold till I’m chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet ’tain’t being dead—it’s my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you’ll cremate my last remains.”
A pal’s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.
There wasn’t a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn’t get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: “You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it’s up to you to cremate those last remains.”
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows— O God! how I loathed the thing.
And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I’d often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the “Alice May.”
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then “Here,” said I, with a sudden cry, “is my cre-ma-tor-eum.”
Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.
Then I made a hike, for I didn’t like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don’t know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.
I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: “I’ll just take a peep inside.
I guess he’s cooked, and it’s time I looked”; … then the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: “Please close that door.
It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear you’ll let in the cold and storm—
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it’s the first time I’ve been warm.”
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
“The legendary 
