{"id":7283,"date":"2021-01-12T19:25:00","date_gmt":"2021-01-13T00:25:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/?p=7283"},"modified":"2021-01-12T19:34:34","modified_gmt":"2021-01-13T00:34:34","slug":"episode-222-yukon-diary-friday-july6-to-july-15-1962","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/?p=7283","title":{"rendered":"EPISODE 222 YUKON DIARY FRIDAY JULY6 TO July 15, 1962"},"content":{"rendered":"
EPISODE 222   YUKON DIARY   friday Jul 6 to July 15, 1962<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
alan  skeoch<\/div>\n
Jan.  2021<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Note:  Some readers will be irritated by the immaturity of these diary  entries. Juvenile might be a word<\/div>\n
used.  Please  remember that these are diary entries.  This is  not a laundromat list.  We  were all <\/div>\n
young men in our 20\u2019s doing very hard work at times and at other times totally relaxing with the<\/div>\n
assistance of alcohol\u2026beer for the most part.  Two of the fellows had received  Dear John letters<\/div>\n
from girlfriends and were very upset.  I can\u2019t think of anyone who was married. I was closest to being<\/div>\n
married,  Marjorie sent boxes of cookies and cake regularly which the boys all enjoyed.  We  really had<\/div>\n
some good  times together.  So memorable that they are quite fresh in my mind now 58 years later.<\/div>\n
Women were the subject of  some conversation but not much.   Keno City had been the centre<\/div>\n
of Yukon prostitution in the 1920\u2019s and1930\u2019s but we were there in the 1960\u2019s and never saw<\/div>\n
a  woman in town.  Population now 20 people.  Hardly mentioned.   Bottom  line, we were a  bunch of strangers  suddenly<\/div>\n
thrown together.  Young men who decided to make the best of  a very tough job.  Alcohol flowed<\/div>\n
freely. That much is true.  My boss, Dr. Paterson, back in Toronto will not be surprised at our antics<\/div>\n
since  he life in the bush was similar.  He might be upset at our purchase of a case of beer<\/div>\n
on the company dime when the job was  over and we invited all the fellows to our tent.   If  so, he<\/div>\n
can send  the bill.  I think a case of beer cost $4.10 in 1962.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Three  or four of  us  rode to Dawson City in the back of this half ton truck in bad weather\u2026goddamned cold.  The trip took more than<\/div>\n
three perhaps  four hours, maybe  longer because the Alaska Highway was still gravel\u2026unpaved\u2026making 50 mph seem like speeding.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Friday July 6, 1962<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Sure hated to crawl  out of my sleeping bag this morning\u2026to the sound  of<\/div>\n
that goddamn gong    Len and I g0t out early as a result but little progress made<\/div>\n
because the switch box kept cutting out.  I sent for Bill Scott to make sure the<\/div>\n
relay was stayed depressed.   Len  and I only got six lines done\u20262.2 miles.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
The mosquitoes  were fierce.  Water bottles soon emptied  in the heat. And the sun beat down on<\/div>\n
us unmercifully <\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Five of the lads left tonight for a secret staking project \u2026 sounds big.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Saturday, July 7, 1962<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Shipment of food arrived  late last night.   we  had a good day and  covered<\/div>\n
12 line miles.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
WHAT WAS IT LIKE DOING A BUSH SURVEY?  TAKE A LOOK;<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Try walking through this dense bush carrying 3 or 40 pounds of sophisticated technology.  Then do it every day for weeks<\/div>\n
at a time.  What you cannot see are the bugs\u2026creatures that loved human blood.  What you cannot hear is the language\u2026<\/div>\n
@$%#%^ !!!   What you cannot eat is our lunches\u2026cold French Toast with jam, hot tea.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Sunday  July 8, 1962<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Looks like rain, smells like  ran, but no rain.  Tried to work but only covered<\/div>\n
1 mile before the rain came down.  Soaked to the skin. Returned to camp for a  nice warm lunch<\/div>\n
at the cook shack   Slept most of  afternoon until my bed collapsed again<\/div>\n
so I turned to letter writing<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Supper was great\u2026turkey and  lemon meringue pie.   Traded  stories with<\/div>\n
Paddy the cook until 7 when he did the dishes  and I tried to fix my<\/div>\n
goddamn bed.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
This is our cook at the Peso Silver bush camp preparing a turkey dinner for one supper.  Dessert was lemon Meringue pie.  Not bad<\/div>\n
for a camp  with no access road but a rough stream  bed and then a Cat bulldozer.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Monday July 9, 1962<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Did 1.28 line miles\u2026finished layout so began coiling cable for the rest of the day<\/div>\n
Len drove our Power Wagon through the bush to pick up our equipment\u2026possible<\/div>\n
to do that since the land was covered with shrubs and  small trees.  The Power Wagon<\/div>\n
loves obstacles. Returned<\/div>\n
to camp  exhausted.  Nice supper and  a good wash lifted  my spirits.   Fellows showed<\/div>\n
some of our camp slides in the evening.  Some were funny like Paddy nude on<\/div>\n
snowshoes,  Dick taking a  crap\u2026sounds silly I know but we got some laughs<\/div>\n
and no one hurt.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Got mail  from Marjorie and Dave Spilman who is in Anchorage, Alaska, \u2026he <\/div>\n
invited  me to his wedding in Seattle in six weeks.  Cannot afford  that.<\/div>\n
Hugh Naylor is quite upset\u2026crying after receiving a Dear John letter from<\/div>\n
his  girlfriend<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Tuesday, July 10, 1962<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Got crew out early today.  Finished C.L. #5\u20264,700 line feet.  Pulled  grounding rods<\/div>\n
and coiled cable.  Moved to C.L. #6 setting grounding rods.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Kelly has severe stomach problem\u2026nothing we can do about it. .  packed equpment along the ridge.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
In the evening I got some lumber to make my packing crate for the artistically<\/div>\n
burned logs\u2026used swede saw to shorten much to amusement of  camp.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Wednesday July 11, 1962<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Last day in the bush here\u202610,300 line feet or 2.06 miles. The bugs  were really vicious<\/div>\n
today in the oppressive heat.  In the evening I packed up the Turam along with my<\/div>\n
Yukon logs.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
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<\/div>\n
ancient.  One immense forest we cut through was filled with these dead trees\u2026killed by a forest fire and preserved.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
We bought 24 beers  and  had open house in our tent from 8 p.m.  Boys pleasantly high<\/div>\n
so I read  \u201cThe Cremation of Sam  McGee\u201d which was fun.  Hugh Naylor opened  a<\/div>\n
can  of  beer that had  been shaken\u2026beer all over his face.  Then Hugh and  I<\/div>\n
read  \u201cThe Spell of the Yukon\u201d in unison\u2026lots of  fun and laughter.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
expenses    $4.10  for beer shared with Rio  Plata, Silver Titan and  our own Hunting<\/div>\n
Tech Crew\u2026seemed like a business expense.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Thursday  July 12, 1962<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Len, Neil and  i reclaimed  cable and packed out to camp the motor generator\u2026heavy.<\/div>\n
Packed rest of company equipment in afternoon , had nice last supper in cook shack.<\/div>\n
Then 8 of us piled into the GMC half ton truck\u20265 in the back\u2026and drove to Mayo Landing.<\/div>\n
The ride was bloody awful.  Bud and I slipped off twice.   No danger because no speed.<\/div>\n
Road is a disaster.  Took 3 hours to get to Mayo<\/div>\n
and when we arrived we felt dizzy.  Road terrible.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Signed into the Tim-O-Lou Motel for the night then hit the Chateau  Inn bar.  Whole night<\/div>\n
of  celebrating the Glorious  12th of  July with the Northern Irish boys.  The boys  kept<\/div>\n
bringing me beer until I was very drunk.  Left the Chateau Inn around 1 a.m. to find<\/div>\n
Bill had locked me out of our Motel room.   Met Buddy Rich in front of the Roman Catholic<\/div>\n
church drinking a can  of beer.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Then met an old person, crippled, staggering  down the gravel road. Drunk.  Poor fellow also  <\/div>\n
had no place to sleep so I carried  him to the Chateau  Inn and placed  him in a chair<\/div>\n
for the night.  The bartender, Al,  phoned the Motel manager and  got him to let<\/div>\n
me into our room where Bill Scott was asleep.  Drunk and  angry.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Friday, July  13, 1962<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
The boys from Peso Silver arrived and shook us  out of  bed.  I feel a  little queasy\u2026uneasy.<\/div>\n
DAWSON CITY BOUND.  Dressed quickly and jumped  in the back of the Peso silver half ton truck.<\/div>\n
Heading to Dawson City for the week end  with Hugh, Dirk, Fred, Ron and Bill\u2026six of us.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Marjorie sent me two parcels one of  which had 2 dozen cookies which we ate immediately.\u2019<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Cold drive to Dawson City\u2026dusty road.   Bill and I  signed  into the Occidental Hotel<\/div>\n
and the Peso boys unloaded all their gear in our room.  I went to a movie alone while the\u2019boys<\/div>\n
all  got tickets for Foxy.   since I had  already seen the play once I was reticent to part<\/div>\n
with $5 for a second visit.  The movie was  strange\u2026 a western where cowboys killed<\/div>\n
Indians.  Odd since the people in the theatre were mostly First Nations people.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Later I joined  the fellows in the Westminster Bar and  did what most people here  seem to<\/div>\n
do\u2026drink too much\u2026Bud, Pat, Len and  I had  a  marvellous time laughing and  <\/div>\n
carrying on \u2026 I woke up sleeping in the bathtub in  our room \u2026 all six slept<\/div>\n
in the room\u2026most of us  on the floor.  One of the guys crawled  into the room<\/div>\n
through the transom above the door.  That much  I remember.   The room was<\/div>\n
not very big\u2026about 12 feet by 12 feet.    We laughed a lot and believe it or<\/div>\n
not I had a good sleep.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Expenses    Meals $5.50<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Robert Service House in Dawson City<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Saturday July  14, 1962<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Arose early.  No hangover. That was a surprise.  Hugh was as sick  as a poisoned <\/div>\n
dog.  Ron and I wandered  around Dawson for a while much of which  I had already <\/div>\n
seen.   Strange thing was  we talked philosophy\u2026Emanuel Kant\u2019s Categorical<\/div>\n
Imperative.  Seemed to fit our shenanigans.  <\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
SHOCK!<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Dirk informed us we would have to drive back  to Mayo  Landing immediately as<\/div>\n
all  were needed  for a new staking project.   Seemed we had just arrived and<\/div>\n
then were frantically packing to head back on long road to Mayo in the <\/div>\n
truck.  Piled our bags on top of those of us in back of the truck\u2026goddamn cold.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
We did manage to buy a  case of beer, some thick wedges of cheese, some<\/div>\n
Spanish Onions and  a  couple of boxes  of  crackers.  Fine dining.  While<\/div>\n
driving 160 miles in back of the truck.  Tore the ass  out of my work pants<\/div>\n
somehow as  we sifted  along at 60 m.p.h.  Rather exciting if foolish.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
We signed back  in at the Tim-O-Lou Motel and then went to<\/div>\n
see the movie \u2018The Hanging Tree\u2019 at the Oddfellows Hall.   Then Len<\/div>\n
asked  us up to his  room for a drink.  His room in the Chateau Inn<\/div>\n
was  well stocked with alcohol\u2026whisky vodka, wine.   Len is a<\/div>\n
really  pleasant guy.   <\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
I know this entire to Dawson  city  sounds  stupid but we were all<\/div>\n
young and foolish  enjoying each others company.   Imagine driving 160<\/div>\n
miles  to Dawson City then rushing 160 miles back  to Mayo Landing <\/div>\n
the next day\u2026all in the back  of a half ton truck.  <\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Expenses.   $5.40 meals<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Sunday July 15, 1962<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Up  early and  cooked  my breakfast\u2026tinned meat we called Clap, crackers, coffee,<\/div>\n
orange juice\u2026from a  lunch I packed up on the Peso Silver job.  Spent the day<\/div>\n
resting, reading,  writing letters\u2026and sleeping.   <\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Supper consisted  of can of sardines, can of pork and beans, crackers, cheese,<\/div>\n
tea and  orange juice.   Then visited Pat, Bud and Dinky in Pat\u2019s room.  Beer.<\/div>\n
I heard some delightful stories about Dinky\u2019s trap line and the sad  story about<\/div>\n
his tribal death from whooping cough.  Dinky told story about fellow who<\/div>\n
shot a moose when horns were \u2018in velvet stage\u2019 which he ate as you would<\/div>\n
a  banana.   Also story about Moose Nose jelly\u2026a delicacy.  Yuck!<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
DINKY is the last living member of his tribe.  He must mean his family but he says tribe.  We estimated  his age on an<\/div>\n
earlier job\u2026most said 21 but Dinky says he is 51 years old.  Nice guy. Quiet until conversations get rolling<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
See the velvet on the Moose antlers.  Now imagine eating the life a banana.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Then Bud told  story about bear who got in bed with him and a can  of jam.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
All  agreed that the danger of atomic  warfare \u2026the bomb\u2026was both<\/div>\n
fearful and ridiculous.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Expenses   sardines, pork  and  beans.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
END   EPISODE 222  YUKON DIARY   JULY 6  TO JULY 15, 1962<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
POST SCRIPT<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
CREMATION OF SAM MCGEE BY ROBERT SERICE<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Some people who never see the rough side of life think that those living<\/div>\n
on the edge  of creation are tough nasty people.  Quite the reverse. Imagine<\/div>\n
spending an evening reading poetry and enjoying it. Life is good.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
\n
\n
\n
\n

The Cremation of Sam McGee<\/h1>\n<\/div>\n
\n
BY ROBERT W. SERVICE<\/a><\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\n
There are strange things done in the midnight sun<\/span>
<\/div>\n
      By the men who moil for gold;<\/span>
<\/div>\n
The Arctic trails have their secret tales<\/span>
<\/div>\n
      That would make your blood run cold;<\/span>
<\/div>\n
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,<\/span>
<\/div>\n
      But the queerest they ever did see<\/span>
<\/div>\n
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge<\/span>
<\/div>\n
      I cremated Sam McGee.<\/span>
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
<\/div>\n
Why he left his home in the South to roam ’round the Pole, God only knows.
<\/div>\n
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
<\/div>\n
Though he’d often say in his homely way that “he’d sooner live in hell.”
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
<\/div>\n
Talk of your cold! through the parka’s fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
<\/div>\n
If our eyes we’d close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn’t see;
<\/div>\n
It wasn’t much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
<\/div>\n
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o’erhead were dancing heel and toe,
<\/div>\n
He turned to me, and “Cap,” says he, “I’ll cash in this trip, I guess;
<\/div>\n
And if I do, I’m asking that you won’t refuse my last request.”
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn’t say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
<\/div>\n
“It’s the curs\u00e8d cold, and it’s got right hold till I’m chilled clean through to the bone.
<\/div>\n
Yet ’tain’t being dead\u2014it’s my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
<\/div>\n
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you’ll cremate my last remains.”
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
A pal’s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
<\/div>\n
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
<\/div>\n
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
<\/div>\n
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
There wasn’t a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
<\/div>\n
With a corpse half hid that I couldn’t get rid, because of a promise given;
<\/div>\n
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: “You may tax your brawn and brains,
<\/div>\n
But you promised true, and it’s up to you to cremate those last remains.”
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
<\/div>\n
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
<\/div>\n
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
<\/div>\n
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows\u2014 O God! how I loathed the thing.
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
<\/div>\n
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
<\/div>\n
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
<\/div>\n
And I’d often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
<\/div>\n
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the “Alice May.”
<\/div>\n
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
<\/div>\n
Then “Here,” said I, with a sudden cry, “is my cre-ma-tor-eum.”
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
<\/div>\n
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
<\/div>\n
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared\u2014such a blaze you seldom see;
<\/div>\n
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Then I made a hike, for I didn’t like to hear him sizzle so;
<\/div>\n
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
<\/div>\n
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don’t know why;
<\/div>\n
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
<\/div>\n
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
<\/div>\n
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: “I’ll just take a peep inside.
<\/div>\n
I guess he’s cooked, and it’s time I looked”; … then the door I opened wide.
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
<\/div>\n
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: “Please close that door.
<\/div>\n
It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear you’ll let in the cold and storm\u2014
<\/div>\n
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it’s the first time I’ve been warm.”
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
There are strange things done in the midnight sun<\/span>
<\/div>\n
      By the men who moil for gold;<\/span>
<\/div>\n
The Arctic trails have their secret tales<\/span>
<\/div>\n
      That would make your blood run cold;<\/span>
<\/div>\n
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,<\/span>
<\/div>\n
      But the queerest they ever did see<\/span>
<\/div>\n
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge<\/span>
<\/div>\n
      I cremated Sam McGee.<\/span>
<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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 […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-7283","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7283","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=7283"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7283\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=7283"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=7283"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=7283"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}