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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