{"id":7463,"date":"2021-02-03T15:41:33","date_gmt":"2021-02-03T20:41:33","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/?p=7463"},"modified":"2021-02-03T15:44:32","modified_gmt":"2021-02-03T20:44:32","slug":"episode-243-yukon-diary-skagway-in-1962-suddenly-a-crowd","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/?p=7463","title":{"rendered":"EPISODE 243 YUKON DIARY SKAGWAY IN 1962…suddenly a crowd"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

<\/div>\n
EPISODE 243    YUKON DIARY   SKAGWAY IN 1962<\/div>\n

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

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
White  Pass Railway today\u2026with at least a dozen passenger coaches to handle the  one million tourists.  On my trip in 1962 there were only a few coaches\u2026an empty train.<\/div>\n

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

<\/div>\n
Skagway Today\u2026before a tourist ship arrives.<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
Skagway\u2026back then.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Wednesday Sept. 12, 1962<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
The White Pass Railway threaded the Dead Horse Pass needle slowly\u2026carefully.  To make an<\/div>\n
error \u2026 a full speed ahead kind of error\u2026.invited a swift and  catastrophic end to my Yukon  Diary.<\/div>\n
So we Twisted our way down to Skagway.  (Excuse the double metaphors\u2026i.e.threading a needle<\/div>\n
and ‘ Twist Again Like  we Did Last  Summer\u2019)   Travelling the Klondike trail in reverse.  Alone.  No baggage<\/div>\n
except my brief case and  extra socks.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
I find it hard to believe that just yesterday  I was tagging  mining claims in a God awful<\/div>\n
swamp with patches of  Yukon  stunted  Spruce.  Carrying a 30-30 rifle and a Blazing axe.<\/div>\n
My feet breaking through an inch of ice with each step.  Feet awash in ice water that my<\/div>\n
body  temperature heated into a thin kind of hot soup as  my feet boiled.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
And today I am sitting alone on a near empty passenger coach built in 1900 in the<\/div>\n
expectation that the Yukon was  about to open up to settlement.  That never happened<\/div>\n
so the White Pass Railway eked  out an existence with gawking tourists of which there<\/div>\n
did not seem to be many and heavy shipments of silver ore destined  for an American<\/div>\n
refinery.  <\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
The rails screamed in protest with each turn.  Only 107 miles of track between Whitehorse<\/div>\n
and Skagway.  But what a difference.  Whitehorse was Canadian territory where I met <\/div>\n
Waler Malecky by chance.  Small town atmosphere really.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Now Skagway was  something else.  First off, it was American territory.  Strange in a way.<\/div>\n
I had  no  passport yet at no time was asked to show my identity.  I guess the powers that<\/div>\n
be figured anyone coming or going from Skagway was no danger to either Canada  or<\/div>\n
the United States.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
The only austere part of the trip other than the yawning chasms was the lone Skeleton of<\/div>\n
a Presbyterian church somewhere along the way.  A church where once there must have<\/div>\n
been congregants.  Now as  solitary as the moon. A bit chilling.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
The trip took longer than I expected.  Only 107 mlles\u2026.s couple of hours at most I thought. <\/div>\n
I should  have known  better for I  had been reading Pierre Berton\u2019s Klondike which<\/div>\n
made both passes\u2026the Chilkoot and the Dead Horse Pass\u2026terrifying, dangerous, deadly.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
That was my state of mind as the train flattened out for a piece on its final  approach<\/div>\n
to Skagway.   I was a miner.  A mining claim tagger.  A veteran of the Yukon.  Leaving tough,<\/div>\n
hard drinking, foul mouthed, humorous and tragic Yukon veterans behind.  Yesterday <\/div>\n
my boots crashed through that ice foretelling the coming of a Yukon winter.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
I often read  and re-read  Robert Service\u2019s \u2018Spell of the Yukon\u2019.  Almost memorized.  I thought<\/div>\n
of the men who sat around our campsites quoting Robert Service by heart.  Especially when<\/div>\n
their tongues were loosened  by Double overproof rum. <\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
I wanted the gold, and I sought it;
<\/div>\n
   I scrabbled and mucked like a slave.
<\/div>\n
Was it famine or scurvy\u2014<\/span>I fought it;
<\/div>\n
   I hurled my youth into a grave.<\/span> <\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Day dreaming my way down from the Coastal Mountains<\/div>\n
to one of the strangest places on earth\u2026Skagway.<\/div>\n
Where  100,000 men and a few women rolled the dice<\/div>\n
of life\u2019s journey in a hopeless chance to grab the golden<\/div>\n
ring of their trip on life’s merry go round.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
It is  important that readers understand my state of mind.<\/div>\n
I was trying to replicate things that happened here in <\/div>\n
Skagway sixty years ago\u2026back just before mom and<\/div>\n
dad were born.  Ancient times.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Skagway.  Finally I was there.  The intricate  plan of my<\/div>\n
escape from the Yukon was really happening.  Skagway<\/div>\n
\u201ca tiny decrepit ghost town given life by a few  souvenir shops\u201d<\/div>\n
My verbatim Yukon Diary entry.   <\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
I bought mom a  souvenir plate\u2026$5.50 plus .65 tax or exchange .<\/div>\n
What?   Everything is  going to cost 10% more than I  counted  upon.<\/div>\n
Will I be able to manage?   Booked into the Skagway  Inn at $4.00<\/div>\n
for the night.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Outside the single main street was suddenly full of  people.  Not men in<\/div>\n
torn work pants taking a  leak in a ditch.  Not the kind of men I knew.<\/div>\n
Men in sport clothes with women on  their arms.  Older people\u2026lots<\/div>\n
of them rubber necking their way from souvenir shop to railway cars.<\/div>\n
Cameras  clicking.  People posing beneath a Soapy Smith shop sign.<\/div>\n
Why would anyone want a picture of that son  of a bitch.  His name<\/div>\n
was  obvious on Skagway storefronts.   Did no one know that Soapy<\/div>\n
Smith was a murderiing thief who extorted money and goods from <\/div>\n
those poor deluded gold  seekers.  Did no one take joy in the fact<\/div>\n
he was shot dead by a justifiably  angry fellow?   The people of Skagway<\/div>\n
back in the gold rush days were little better than Soapy for they grew<\/div>\n
wealthy  selling goods at inflated prices\u2026buying half-dead  horses<\/div>\n
from steamships knowing that those horses would  soon be overloaded<\/div>\n
and plodding up Dead Horse Pass  .<\/div>\n
There was no hay up there.  Those horses were starving.  Skagway<\/div>\n
was  not a town to admire in those times.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
I expected an empty town.  Now  it was suddenly full of people.  Where did<\/div>\n
they come from.  More  people than buildings.  Skagway was a tiny<\/div>\n
sliver of a place.  A bit of flatened gravel backed immediately by the<\/div>\n
soaring Coastal  Mountains.   Where did all these people come from?  Where will all these people<\/div>\n
sleep?<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
The answer came as  I reached the waterfront where a couple of large<\/div>\n
sparkling clean  passenger ships were anchored.   The Lynne Canal is<\/div>\n
a long and deep stretch of water snaking inland to Skagway.  Perfect<\/div>\n
for shipping.  <\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Note:  There are 800 or so permanent residents  of Skagway today (2021)<\/div>\n
but the town is capable of handling 10,000 people  daily.  Skagway<\/div>\n
is the target town for those huge  passenger ships ferrying thousands<\/div>\n
of tourist up and down the coastal northern waters of  Canada<\/div>\n
and the United States.  Huge ships.  In 1962 the ships were not as large<\/div>\n
and the volume of tourists was considerably less.  But Skagway was<\/div>\n
a kind of Mecca nonetheless.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\u201cSuddenly there were crowds of people\u201d\u2026the reason is  obvious in this picture.  One million<\/div>\n
people visit Skagway today.  They sleep in that white thing at the end of the Skagway street.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
So I joined the crowd.  Soon got over the shock.  Later in the evening<\/div>\n
I  even went to the DAYS OF \u201998 show put on by Skagway  local citizens,<\/div>\n
a rather delightful  amateur production.  Sincere\u2026repeated each night<\/div>\n
for the tourists ships that come and go on schedule.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Gambling was another piece of  the Skagway mystique.  I lost a couple<\/div>\n
of dollars.  But had  fun.  Easy  to get to know the tourists.  They wanted<\/div>\n
to meet locals.  Wanted to meet descendants of the gold rush  throng. <\/div>\n
I fitted that image better than most.  I had walked those bleak Yukon Hills<\/div>\n
in search of silver.  I had nursed  those Double  OP\u2019s with men like <\/div>\n
Aaro Aho, Moses Lord,  Waler Malecky, Bob  Gilroy, Bill Dunn,Bill Scott\u2026Alex,  Andy,<\/div>\n
Dinky\u2026so  many characters.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
And I had a  full red beard  as  was expected  of a person \u2018who moiled for  gold\u2019<\/div>\n
I had  even done some successful gold panning as proved by he specs of gold<\/div>\n
on swatches  of  black electrical tape mailed to Marjorie.  The only image that<\/div>\n
did not fit was the smell.  I had bathed twice\u2026once in Whitehorse and once in<\/div>\n
Skagway.  I smelled  like  a tourist awash in Aqua Velva after shave  lotion.<\/div>\n
There were a couple of poorly disguised patches on my pants which may have<\/div>\n
 clues that I was  one of the  Yukoners\u2026a  Miner.<\/div>\n

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

<\/div>\n
I talked with a lot of people.  Asked  around.  Like \u201chow do I get out<\/div>\n
of Skagway?  There are no roads south to Juneau where I have booked<\/div>\n
a flight.  One group of young ladies  offered to hide me on their big passenger <\/div>\n
ship destined  for Seattle.  They said no one would  notice.  The offer was  made<\/div>\n
in jest I think.  Not sure Marjorie would be too enthusiastic had I taken the offer<\/div>\n
seriously.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
But I was  very serious.  How in hell was I to get out of Skagway.  The only road was<\/div>\n
north to the the Alaska Highway and on to Anchorage\u2026miles and miles the wrong<\/div>\n
direction.  I got a bit alarmed  when I hit the sack.   Needlessly so.  The answer<\/div>\n
was simple but a little more expensive than I had anticipated.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Expenses (not eligible for expense account)<\/div>\n
Train   $19.00<\/div>\n
Hotel   $4.00<\/div>\n
Ceramic Plate  $6.15   (*Goddamn Tax of  .65)<\/div>\n
Show, Days of \u201998   $1.00<\/div>\n
Food   $1.65<\/div>\n
Stamps and  cards   .53<\/div>\n
Gambling  $1.50  <\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
This trip was costing more than I had planned<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
\u201cThey\u2019re making my money diminish<\/div>\n
I\u2019m sick of the taste of champagne<\/div>\n
But I\u2019ll battle on to he finish<\/div>\n
And head back  to the Yukon again.\u201d<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
*Funny\u2026I remember this Robert Service  fragment<\/div>\n
so well that I can almost quote it verbatim now in 2021.<\/div>\n
Perhaps  one of my readers would  like to check my<\/div>\n
accuracy. I  do not have time for that right now.<\/div>\n
I must \u2018battle on to the finish\u2019 even though I will<\/div>\n
never get the chance \u201cto go back to the Yukon again.”<\/div>\n

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

<\/div>\n
POST SCRIPT:   Some Critics of Robert Service\u2026pompously \u2026accuse<\/div>\n
him of doggerel poetry.  I think those who love poetry were a little more broad minded<\/div>\n
than that.   Read this aloud\u2026enjoy it.  Forget about metaphors and  convoluted  meanings.<\/div>\n

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

The Spell of the Yukon<\/h1>\n<\/div>\n
\n
BY ROBERT W. SERVICE<\/a><\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\n
I wanted the gold, and I sought it;
<\/div>\n
   I scrabbled and mucked like a slave.
<\/div>\n
Was it famine or scurvy\u2014<\/span>I fought it;
<\/div>\n
   I hurled my youth into a grave.
<\/div>\n
I wanted the gold, and I got it\u2014<\/span> 
<\/div>\n
   Came out with a fortune last fall,\u2014<\/span> 
<\/div>\n
Yet somehow life\u2019s not what I thought it,
<\/div>\n
   And somehow the gold isn\u2019t all.
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
No! There\u2019s the land. (Have you seen it?)
<\/div>\n
   It\u2019s the cussedest land that I know,
<\/div>\n
From the big, dizzy mountains that screen it
<\/div>\n
   To the deep, deathlike valleys below.
<\/div>\n
Some say God was tired when He made it;
<\/div>\n
   Some say it\u2019s a fine land to shun;
<\/div>\n
Maybe; but there\u2019s some as would trade it
<\/div>\n
   For no land on earth\u2014<\/span>and I\u2019m one.
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
You come to get rich (damned good reason);
<\/div>\n
   You feel like an exile at first;
<\/div>\n
You hate it like hell for a season,
<\/div>\n
   And then you are worse than the worst.
<\/div>\n
It grips you like some kinds of sinning;
<\/div>\n
   It twists you from foe to a friend;
<\/div>\n
It seems it\u2019s been since the beginning;
<\/div>\n
   It seems it will be to the end.
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
I\u2019ve stood in some mighty-mouthed hollow
<\/div>\n
   That\u2019s plumb-full of hush to the brim;
<\/div>\n
I\u2019ve watched the big, husky sun wallow
<\/div>\n
   In crimson and gold, and grow dim,
<\/div>\n
Till the moon set the pearly peaks gleaming,
<\/div>\n
   And the stars tumbled out, neck and crop;
<\/div>\n
And I\u2019ve thought that I surely was dreaming,
<\/div>\n
   With the peace o\u2019 the world piled on top.
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
The summer\u2014<\/span>no sweeter was ever;
<\/div>\n
   The sunshiny woods all athrill;
<\/div>\n
The grayling aleap in the river,
<\/div>\n
   The bighorn asleep on the hill.
<\/div>\n
The strong life that never knows harness;
<\/div>\n
   The wilds where the caribou call;
<\/div>\n
The freshness, the freedom, the farness\u2014<\/span>
<\/div>\n
   O God! how I\u2019m stuck on it all.
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
The winter! the brightness that blinds you,
<\/div>\n
   The white land locked tight as a drum,
<\/div>\n
The cold fear that follows and finds you,
<\/div>\n
   The silence that bludgeons you dumb.
<\/div>\n
The snows that are older than history,
<\/div>\n
   The woods where the weird shadows slant;
<\/div>\n
The stillness, the moonlight, the mystery,
<\/div>\n
   I\u2019ve bade \u2019em good-by\u2014<\/span>but I can\u2019t.
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
There\u2019s a land where the mountains are nameless,
<\/div>\n
   And the rivers all run God knows where;
<\/div>\n
There are lives that are erring and aimless,
<\/div>\n
   And deaths that just hang by a hair;
<\/div>\n
There are hardships that nobody reckons;
<\/div>\n
   There are valleys unpeopled and still;
<\/div>\n
There\u2019s a land\u2014<\/span>oh, it beckons and beckons,
<\/div>\n
   And I want to go back\u2014<\/span>and I will.
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
They\u2019re making my money diminish;
<\/div>\n
   I\u2019m sick of the taste of champagne.
<\/div>\n
Thank God! when I\u2019m skinned to a finish
<\/div>\n
   I\u2019ll pike to the Yukon again.
<\/div>\n
I\u2019ll fight\u2014<\/span>and you bet it\u2019s no sham-fight;
<\/div>\n
   It\u2019s hell!\u2014<\/span>but I\u2019ve been there before;
<\/div>\n
And it\u2019s better than this by a damsite\u2014<\/span>
<\/div>\n
   So me for the Yukon once more.
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
There\u2019s gold, and it\u2019s haunting and haunting;
<\/div>\n
   It\u2019s luring me on as of old;
<\/div>\n
Yet it isn\u2019t the gold that I\u2019m wanting
<\/div>\n
   So much as just finding the gold.
<\/div>\n
It\u2019s the great, big, broad land \u2019way up yonder,
<\/div>\n
   It\u2019s the forests where silence has lease;
<\/div>\n
It\u2019s the beauty that thrills me with wonder,
<\/div>\n
   It\u2019s the stillness that fills me with peace.
<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
Robert Service<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
This  shows how small Skagway appears when dwarfed by both luxury ships and the Coastal Mountains.<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
END \u2026 NEXT EPISODE WILL BE       <\/div>\n
                      YUKON DIARY   THURSDAY SEPT. 13, 2016<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n
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EPISODE 243    YUKON DIARY   SKAGWAY IN 1962 alan skeoch Feb.  2021 White  Pass Railway today\u2026with at least a dozen passenger coaches to handle the  one million tourists.  On my trip in 1962 there were only a few coaches\u2026an empty train. Skagway Today\u2026before a tourist ship arrives. Skagway\u2026back then. Wednesday Sept. 12, 1962 The […]<\/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-7463","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7463","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=7463"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7463\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=7463"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=7463"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/alanskeoch.ca\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=7463"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}