Our travel from Palmer to Chicken was straightforward. In one day we traveled farther than we had in three days since reaching Alaska. We made time because we were backtracking most of the way and the weather was less than stellar. We camped at a rest stop and took an evening walk in the woods. Otherwise we drove past stick forest trees, muskeg bogs, mountains, and lakes. We turned up the Taylor Highway and passed large burn areas. These were brilliant pink with fireweed.

The paved road ended a few miles before Chicken, but except for a few ugly frost heaves, the drive was easy. We dropped anchor there for three nights along with about a hundred other campers, most on their way into Alaska.

On the Forth of July, the miners’ organization holds a picnic fundraiser. We bought steak dinners and a few cans of beer and joined the party. After dinner were held the gold panning contests. The children’s’ contest started the show. A young girl admirably stocked the color in her cheek. A boy found six flakes, but only five were seeded in each pan. Yes, there is color in the lode!

The adults worked faster, but no more effectively. After the contest, Anne played at panning the waste and managed to find six flakes of her own. We paid a dollar at the shop for a vial to keep them in. The purchase took the profit out of her prospecting venture.

After the panning was an egg-throwing contest. All but one yolk hit the dirt. Someone shot a shoe out of a pipe section. Other than that there were no fireworks. Not much point where it never gets dark! The party moved downtown as the evening progressed, but we went home. Rumor had it that the ladies would be asked to donate panties for firing from the cannon, and this made Anne nervous. The sun settled behind the clouds, but it never got dark as we slept the night away in Chicken.

This is the time of light and life in Alaska. Most Alaskans enjoy the cold, but hate the dark. Many, who can, flee the January darkness and don’t return until April. May would be the state month of Alaska, if there was such a thing. It has lots of sun, but few mosquitoes. Some “Southeasterners” don’t seem to mind the rain and clouds in their part of the state, but others do. “Life is too short to never see the sun,” spoke one who no longer lives there.

The drive to Dawson City over the “Top of the World Highway” was a motoring adventure. All of the route on the Alaska side and about half on the Canada side was unpaved. The port of entry is on a mountaintop. We parked there after clearing customs, and Anne snapped pictures and flirted with the border patrol agents on both sides. Then we continued along the ridge until the grand valley of the Yukon came within view. The descent took us to the river and the ferry landing. The fast flow of the river and the small size of the ferryboat made us nervous. The boat had just left, and we were first in line. The queue on the other side extended a quarter mile back. We were so glad we were heading south.

The ferry returned. Two campers and four pickups got off. The ferryman loaded two cars and then waved us forward. We mounted the ramp cautiously and squeezed our rig aboard in the right lane. A pair of motorcycles parked next to us and SUV’s and pickups behind. The ferry moved across the fast and deep stream and landed. Again we swallowed hard and slowly pulled off of the boat and into the famous Yukon bonanza town of Dawson City.

We drove slowly past the long line of campers waiting for the ferry and parked near the visitor center. After checking in there we walked about town enjoying a place that never outgrew or became tired of its 1900 look. It remains the town at the end of the gold trail. The National Park Service runs tours and preserves certain structures, but the rest of the town also maintains the gold rush look. A casino with chorus girl shows remains for modern gold seekers to visit. In the back of town sit rustic cabins once occupied by Robert Service and Jack London. Much finer modern retreat houses sit around and between them.

Commissioned to obtain a gold nugget we sought out the 40 Mile Gold Workshop. A miner in Chicken had suggested that this would be the proper place to find a Yukon nugget. It certainly was. The shop had finished jewelry and artwork, but also a glass-covered counter adorned with some dozen pans loaded with the reason people had built this town. Each pan bore a label showing the origin of the various treasures.

The stones in each pan did have their own separate characters, but all had the proper glitter and color of the prize. In the middle of the counter was one huge, perhaps 4” wide, nugget. We cannot imagine its value. Nuggets are valued in part by the amount of gold, but also by their size. Large nuggets are rare and are priced accordingly. As we admired the fine stones and made our selection, other tourists came into the shop and watched us. The shop owner prepared the certification and packaged our prize. Anne snapped a picture of the shop and we went off pleased with the success of our mission.

Leaving town we passed a finally restored, but beached, old steamboat. An even larger one is on display and open for tours here in Whitehorse. It is hard to imagine a time when these grand craft plied the Yukon. They appear elegant but too fragile to ship the waters of this mighty river.

The gold seekers of 1897 were ambitious dreamers and fools seeking a fortune based on rumor and promotion. They gave life to the Yukon and Alaska and are praised and worshiped for that, but few made their fortune. Perhaps 4,000 miners became rich, and most of these were here before the gold rush. The men who raced up the Chilkoot and other Klondike trails arrived to find claims staked and only barren ground remaining.

Their investment built the towns of Skagway, Whitehorse, and Dawson City and the transportation routes that still provide service, but they sold their goods for the fare home with nothing but memories of an expedition that had the character of military invasion. Some did not return. Several dozen casualties of an avalanche remain in the Slide Cemetery of Dyea (dy-ee). This town, once the largest in Alaska, is now a ghost. The railroad was built out of Skagway, a town that did not exist before the gold rush, and after the rush it remained while Dyea was abandoned.

But the railroad was not all that condemned this one time Native American village. It was at the end of navigable water. Since 1900 it has risen six feet and the bay has fallen away from it. Such is Alaska. Even the land is not constant here.

A day’s more drive took us south to here at Whitehorse, the capital and hub of the Yukon Territory. It appears to be prospering, but as with the rest of the Yukon, the tourist trade seems to be the main source of revenue. Everything is expensive, and stores have limited selections. The Canada Super Store was sold out of dental floss. Surely there will be more in a week or two, but not this week.

The government employs many youth to operate information kiosks, and lead walking tours. Wonderful signs describe various points of interest in and around town. We walked along the Yukon upstream of the city and crossed a fine pedestrian suspension bridge to visit the site of the “Canyon City” tent city of the gold rush. There the Klondikers landed to unload their gear. Horses drew wagons along a log-rail track to below the Whitehorse rapids. Local pilots steered the empty raft boats through the rapids. The boats were then reloaded to continue their journey to Dawson City.

The aspiring miners of 1897 and 1898 had first to pack a required ton (one year’s supply) of goods and haul them some 33 miles over a three thousand foot high pass between Skagway or Dyea and Bennett Lake. This could take a number of trips even if packers, sleds, and livestock were used. They then would have to build or buy a boat to float in summer the lakes and the streams that connected them. Eventually the lakes ended and the stream, now known as the Yukon River would connect directly to Dawson City. The rapids at Whitehorse were the worst, but there are others. Many supplies and some lives were lost to the icy river.

Today the Whitehorse rapids are gone. They were sacrificed to build a dam. The Yukon now provides light to Whitehorse.

We are staying here until tomorrow. We had planned to leave yesterday, but our mail has not arrived. It was mailed two weeks ago. If it is not in this afternoon we will have it returned. Why, you might ask should it take so long. No good reason perhaps, but remember, the Yukon is north of British Columbia. We remain very far away from anywhere. The fine airport should still provide a good connection, but clearly it has not. In any case, Whitehorse is not a bad town to be stuck in.