Our plane lands in a small field outside Dawson City, Canada. Just before landing we have a spectacular view of the Alaska Range including the mighty Denali. As we make our way into town, we pass mountains of mine tailings. The earth was ravaged here in the early quest for gold. Dredges sliced and diced the area until the 1970’s. Environmental laws now require miners to return the land to the condition in which it was found, but the early damage is done.
First glimpse of Dawson is dusty streets and old buildings. Our lodging is an old school complex reworked as a hotel. It is some of the only “newish” construction in a town that otherwise looks like time forgot. The town is largely run by Parks Canada as a memorial to the gold rush era.
Despite my misgivings, we pay about $25.00 each to enter Diamond Tooth Gertie’s. It is the oldest functioning saloon in the territory and actually Canada’ oldest casino. We somehow get a table on the balcony with fabulous views. While Gertie’s will never win awards for the terrible pizza, the show is wonderful. Gertie can sing in any concert hall in the world and not be out of place. What a voice. Her can can dancers are also impressive.
The show is so good that we decide to stay for the later show. In between entertainment, I decide to try my luck on the slot machines. The saloon is run by Parks Canada so anything I lose will go back into maintenance of the town. To my surprise, I win. Once I make enough to pay for our dinner, I head back to the balcony and enjoy show number two. There are three shows a night and they are all different. Too bad we are too tired to stay for the midnight show.
We walk back to the hotel under the light of the midnight sun. It is funny to walk by the Midnight Sun Hotel in what seems like broad daylight. It truly never gets dark here this time of year. I am thankful for the blackout curtains I noticed in the hotel room earlier, because I have a hard time sleeping in the 24 hour daylight. And although it is late, it is bright.
After a good night’s sleep, I wake up early and get my work done. After a few zoom calls and email, I decide to take a walk. Very few people are up. I pick a street and head toward the mountain. I know to look out for a small bear that has been seen nearby so I am cautious. No sign of a bear.
I walk toward the historic cemetery and the Jack London cabin. Suddenly two very aggressive dogs run toward me. I freeze and return the way I came. (Having already suffered one dog attack, I am not keen on experiencing another.) I think I would rather encounter a bear.
Once my husband is up, we head back uphill. This time there are no dogs in sight. The Jack London cabin is tiny. I remember “Call of the Wild” and picture him huddled here dreaming up the story to chase away the brutal winter chill. I can’t imagine wintering in the sparse cabin.
Just down the hill sits a modern hospital. It is perhaps the only medical facility this far north in the Yukon Territory and a lifeline for the gold miners.
Nearby there is a park and the Dawson City Museum. We decide to pop in the small museum housed in what was once the territorial administration building.
The galleries in the museum are interesting. Attractive displays inform us about the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in First Peoples, pre-gold rush eras, the Klondike Gold Rush, and Dawson City’s boom-and-bust development. A lot of history is packed into just a few rooms. They even have a small building housing old steam locomotives. Luckily, we are able to catch a short tour of the train shed which only opens a few times a day.
Armed with historical knowledge, we set out to walk the town. Old wooden board walks are raised above the dirt roads and keep our feet mostly clean. We have to hop on and off the platforms at the intersections, but at least it isn’t muddy.
We pass a hardware store and step inside just to see what people that live in Dawson might buy for supplies. I am perusing animal traps and winter gear when a man walks in dressed like a 19th century sea captain. The owner says, “Captain, how did you do last night.” The captain replied, “ about 90.”
Curious, we inquire and find out that the captain is the owner of a mummified toe. We don’t know whose toe it is or how he came to possess the toe. What we do know is that for “$15.00”, the captain will put the toe in a shot glass with a healthy dose of whiskey. If you take the shot and let the toe touch your lips, the captain will give you a certificate. If you swallow the toe, you get a fine of a couple thousand dollars. Only in Dawson.
Many of the buildings in Dawson are empty, derelict, or managed by the park service. On Main Street, we find bar rooms and brothels. The last brothel officially closed in the 1950’s. The madame was a pillar of the community. There a plaque and her photo next to the small house just a street away from Main Street.
Somewhere on the street facing the Yukon river, we stop for lunch. While I am waiting for our sandwiches, my husband sits down outside. Meanwhile two guys from the “Gold Rush” reality television series roll up on their motorbikes. Tourists ask to take photos while we try to figure out who they are. (Thank goodness for google.)
Late in the day my husband is ready to turn back. He has had enough exploring. I, however, have one more mission and then plan to join him in the hotel lounge. I want to see the confluence of the Yukon and Klondike rivers. It is only a short hike from town.
As I walk along the Yukon river, there is an old river boat that is being restored. The sun is hot, so I don’t linger in the park. There are fiberglass mastodon and mining statues placed at intervals. So I do stop for a few photos. I rarely meet a statue that isn’t begging for a photo. Every so often there is a tiny path down to the waters edge. I am not fishing or swimming. I am just taking a stroll until I see the waters meet. So I walk on.
Mission accomplished. I am the only person standing at the confluence where two storied rivers run together. It is peaceful: just me and the butterflies. It is hard to imagine the place overrun with boats jostling to get to the gold. It is wild and beautiful.
Afterwards, I cut back through town to get to the hotel. This end of town is a little more run down. All in all Dawson is a sleepy little town with a larger than life past. The gold rush legends live on, but today the real money comes from tourists. I guess I’ll find my husband and see what else we can contribute to the local economy.
