#16: On The Road To Gold...2012 Style

reposted from 2012

Dawson City 1899

2008's lingering recession has challenged many of us in similar ways to the folks back in 1898. Back then, the entire world had been plunged into economic depression through the Panic of 1893 and some of the more desperate (or adventuresome) gave it all up and headed for Alaska and the Canadian Yukon to see if they could get some of that gold everyone was talking about

A Eric Hegg Gold Rush Photo

They came up over six major trails, the two cheapest and quickest being through Skagway and Dyea of SE Alaska. The two towns were just a few miles apart, both of them busy trail heads to the grueling White and Chilkoot Passes 29 - 33 miles straight up. Each trail had its advantages and disadvantages. Both were misery. One miner said it didn't matter which one you took, you wished you'd taken the other. Another said, "One's the road to damnation, the other to hell." They both ended up at the headwaters to the Yukon River at Bennett Lake.

The Yukon is a serpentine river of 2,400 miles that winds north and east, slithering south, and then east again to the Bering Sea. Five hundred miles from its headwaters on Bennett Lake was Dawson, Yukon--the miners' destination point--where the richest gold the world had (and has) ever known was found. More gold per square inch was discovered here than anywhere else on the planet. Their stories and resulting tourism industry are all that's left. Some of the stories are inspiring, some are exciting, many are tragic. All tell of human beings redefining themselves.

Yukon River

I'm headed up there myself tonight, flying out of Vancouver, BC, Canada. Unlike the miners of a century ago, though, my journey will not take me six months to a year, taxing every ounce of fortitude I might muster. My journey will take just two days. I'll overnight in Whitehorse, capital of the Yukon, and the following afternoon hop aboard what I assume will be a bush plane and wing my way over the Yukon River. I will not be required to risk my life by running a scow through its treacherous rapids, nor will I suffer the madness of being devoured alive by mosquitoes. Even so, I can relate to the collective spirit of economics and adventure that caused over 100,000 men, women, and children to give it all up and head deep into the unknown.

Statistically, only 40,000 ever made it to Dawson. Only 4,000 ever struck it rich. And only a handful managed to hold onto it. Donald Trump's grandfather did. John Nordstrom did. A few others. As for myself, I have no illusions of "striking it rich" (though I hope the tips are good!); but here's the thing. Having lived in Skagway for two summers and being in the midst of writing a book on Skagway's role in the gold rush, I've read scores of journals written by the men and women who made the attempt. Their stories all begin with hope of financial relief. They all end with gratitude and wonder for the adventure itself. They found life redefined.

Dawson City Today

I too am going to Dawson, to find life redefined.