The impact of those words…

I distinctly remember the words and being fascinated by the history of the place that the words conquered up.

And now I am on my way. To the land of the midnight sun, Canadian edition.  The Yukon where things “are larger than life” according to their toursim department.

To me, it has always been the land of the midnight sun. I’ve wanted to go for a long time and had this trip booked in June 20, and we know how that turned out.

I’ve been as far north at Whitehorse in the Northwest Territories. In January. Note that this trip is planned for summer solstice? Yeah, that far north in the winter is only for the hearty souls who can do the dark. And that is NOT me.

A small history search shows that

The territory’s name probably comes from the word “Yu-kun-ah” meaning “great river.” In 1846, chief trader John Bell of the Hudson’s Bay Company canoed down the Porcupine River to where it meets the Yukon River. There, he met natives who told him that the name of the big river was the “youcon”

Wikipedia

In doing some research, I also found out that the territory has a population of 37,000 people. So, while its square footage is about the size of California, you will actually find more moose than people. An actual 2 to 1 ratio, apparently.  You will also find the world’s smallest desert at 2.7 square km but the second highest mountain in Nortn America. It’s a very diverse area in regards to terrain and the Indigenous populations.

But the thing most people probably remember about the Yukon is that it was home to the biggest gold rush in history.

In August 1896, Skookum Jim and his family found gold near the Klondike River in Canada’s Yukon Territory. Their discovery sparked one of the most frantic gold rushes in history. Nearby miners immediately flocked to the Klondike to stake the rest of the good claims. Almost a year later, news ignited the outside world. A wave of gold seekers bought supplies and boarded ships in Seattle and other west coast port cities. They headed north, thinking they would strike it rich.

Most stampeders opted for the cheapest, most direct routes – the White Pass and Chilkoot Trails. A stampeder taking this “poor man’s” route sailed up the Inside Passage. They disembarked, then hiked over the Coast Range mountains to reach the head of the Yukon River. On a homemade boat, stampeders traveled over 500 miles by river to reach the gold fields.

The Golden Staircase leading over Chilkoot Pass from the Scales in 1898National Park Service, Klondike Gold Rush National Historical Park, KLGO Library SS-32-10566

During the first year of the rush an estimated 20,000 to 30,000 goldseekers spent an average of three months packing their outfits up the trails and over the mountain pass.

By midsummer of 1898 there were 18,000 people at Dawson, with more than 5,000 working the diggings. By August many of the stampeders had started for home, most of them broke. The next year saw a still larger exodus of miners when gold was discovered at Nome, Alaska. The great Klondike Gold Rush ended as suddenly as it had begun. Towns such as Dawson City and Skagway began to decline. Others, including Dyea, disappeared altogether, leaving only memories of what many consider to be the last grand adventure of the 19th century.

SupYukon.com

In 1909, a bank teller, Scottish by birth but a nomad in nature, arrived in Whitehorse, which had been a camping point on the trip to Dawson. While here, he listened to old-timers tell stories. He himself recited poetry at the church. The newspaper editor suggested he write poetry about life in the Yukon. So Robert Service did just that; writing The Shooting of Dan McGrew and The Cremation of Sam McGee.

A very interesting side fact I found while researching this – Sam McGee was a real person. In fact, he was a client at the CIBC, where Service was a teller. He lived in Whitehorse, where he discovered copper and became far richer than if he had gone up to Dawson as originally planned. He  took up road construction and built several key roads in the area, but the weather took its toll. He and his family left for southern parts of Canada.  He did not realize how famous his name had become until he returned for a prospecting trip in 1938. Tourists were purchasing ashes from his cremation despite the fact that he was very much alive. Though his name will forever be associated with the word “cremation”, he was actually buried in a plot next to his wife in Beiseker, Alberta.

But his words about Sam McGee wove their way into my brain. Specifically, the first line about the midnight sun. Just in case you aren’t familiar with his words here they are. No matter how many times I tried it the specific lines run on when I copy and paste….ugh.

The Cremation of Sam McGee

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

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

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

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

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn’t say no;then he says with a sort of moan:

“It’s the cursèd cold, and it’s got right hold till I’m chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet ’tain’t being dead—it’s my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you’ll cremate my last remains.”

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

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

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb,

in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows— O God! how I loathed the thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Robert Service

And now I will see Whitehorse were Service and McGee lived. Then up to Dawson City were Service did move to and write after the success of Songs of a Sourdough.

It’s a long post, but I wanted to “set the stage”. Word intense, but not many pictures. All that will change later as I post many pictures and not a lot of words, likely just adjectives about the Yukon. Tossing down thoughts in what has become my travel diary. So stay tuned.

Yukon airport June ’24 – larger than life!

Bernie