Dawson Peaks to Whitehorse
Dave, our host at Dawson Peaks, gave us a card for four cents of fuel at a place in Teslin, a couple of kilometers down the road. It seemed rude not to take him up on it.
Also in Teslin, we visited the George Johnson Museum. George Johnson was a member of the native Tlinkit tribe, who went to Fairbanks in the 30s, witnessed cars, and decided he wanted one, so he used his trapping earnings to buy one and have it brought to the Teslin on a boat, where he used it for hunting, and as a taxi. He used the frozen lake as a road, until he build a stretch of proper road, which eventually became part of the Alaska Highway. That’s all very colourful, but his real gift to posterity was his photographs of native life at the time.
Not that native life was as traditional as all that. It seems as if as soon as white fur traders showed up offering cash for fur, the natives immediately shifted to a new lifestyle of heavy duty trapping. A later drop in demand for fur was a disaster for these natives.
It was only a couple of hours’ drive before we arrived in Whitehorse, capital of Yukon Territory, the furthest navigable part of the mighty Yukon River. We parked downtown, and took a stroll in search of food. With a population of 30,000, Whitehorse is the most developed place we’ve been to since Prince George. We found the choice of eateries dizzying, but eventually settled on Doc’s diner, staffed almost entirely by ginger women. Debbie had a garlic chicken wrap, and I had a salami and cheese sandwich, and both were good.
We had quite a long poke around the MacBride museum, which had lots of stuffed animals, old things (including a Hohner melodeon very much like mine), exhibits about the geography of the area, the gold rush, and so on. My only complaint was that it was a bit text heavy - there comes a point where you think it would be easier to read a book than to stand in a museum reading off walls.
As we were about to leave, a staff member told us that she was going to do a reading of Robert Service’s ‘The Cremation of Sam McGee’, so we hung around. When we were asked who had heard of Robert Service, everyone else in the audience put their hand up. I felt a bit ignorant. The name did ring a bell though. Later I realised it was because we’d entered town on Robert Service Way. The poem is quite amusing. I’m sure you can find it online. It turns out Robert Service really did have an acquaintance named Sam McGee, but nothing about him ties in with the description in the poem.
We walked back towards the van, and beyond it to the steam ship ‘Klondike’, which used to shuttle between here and Dawson City until the 50s, when road haulage provided competition it just couldn’t beat. It must have always been a low margin business — although they carried passengers and many kinds of cargo, their reliance on silver ore as a cargo was such that if the market price of silver dipped, the ship just wouldn’t be launched.
Our guide around the boat was a ginger woman. Was there something about this area that attracted ginger families?
The steamer ran on vast quantities of wood - a ‘quart’ of wood (whatever that is) every 30 seconds. We wondered where they got all that wood from, around here?
After seeing the boat, we thanked the ginger lady, and returned to the van. It was here that Debbie noticed the enormous dragonfly wedged under our headlight. We’ll be keeping an eye open for insect prey more impressive than this, but I’m not holding my breath.
We located a site for the night - the Hi Country RV Park, just out of town on the Alaska Highway. It’s nice - big, but scattered with trees, and they’ve put us within reach of a slightly shaky WiFi service.
After we’d hooked up power and water, Debbie announced “Oh, but we never got any beer!”. This serious situation left us with two choices: undo the hooking up (not really that much hassle), or go for a bike ride. We decided the latter would be fun. Getting downtown - some 6km from the campsite - was easy and fun - there’s a long downhill cycle lane to the riverside, then there’s a riverside path the rest of the way. We aimed for the Yukon Brewing Company, which we’d seen on a map, but harboured doubts that it might have closed for the day. When we passed a liquor store, we jumped at the opportunity, bought a bottle of Canadian wine and a twelve pack of “Yukon Gold” pale ale, and set off back the campsite. That long downhill cycle lane on the way out, was now a long uphill cycle lane. Debbie got off and walked, while I gritted my teeth and chose a low gear that actually meant I was moving more slowly than Debbie’s walking pace.
Still, it meant that we felt we’d earned the beer. I lit a fire, and we cooked some steak over it, that we bought in Watson Lake. For dessert, we toasted marshmallows, until we felt sick (which only took about six each).
I folded up and bagged the bikes — I think I have now perfected this operation. From a seat inside the RV, I’ve been watching with fascination as our neighbour fusses about his fire. It’s been lit for about an hour and a half, he’s not using it for anything, he doesn’t even sit by it for warmth, but he keeps coming back to put on more wood. He has a fidgety demeanour, like the birdlike rodents we keep seeing. I wonder whether he’s preparing a romantic meal for a lady, and wants everything just right, including a perfect bed of embers to cook dinner over? In which case, buy charcoal, I say.