Chapter Three

Inuvik to Prince Rupert, British Columbia

The journey south took me back through the arctic tundra to Whitehorse and the picturesque little towns of Carcross (Caribou Crossing) and Atlin, British Columbia. Caribou Crossing was situated on Tagish Lake at a narrow channel where crossing the lake was possible. The lake formed part of the Taku Arm, a larger expanse of water (Lake Bennett) which eventually flows into the Yukon River. In bygone times, for thousands of years before the arrival of white man's civilisation, coastal Tlingit Indians traded here with inland Athabascan Indians. Caribou herds crossed this narrowest section of the lake on their annual migrations. The Indians, therefore, camped at the lake's shore and killed many of them for the replenishment of their supplies of meat and skins. This lifestyle, where Indians respected and balanced harmoniously with nature, taking only that which was necessary, had been viciously destroyed by the greed and lust for power by the new disrespectful 'civilisation'; where money and military might meant all. The gold diggers came in their thousands, firstly by horse and mule, then by train.

Today the old railway bridge and station are still standing, along with some hotels and settlers' cottages as a stark reminder of the period when the Indians were pushed out by white mans' greed for gold. There was also a sternwheeler docked alongside the lake and open to visiting tourists. I met the guide, an Tlingit woman, who invited me to her home to show me how to bake bread the Indian way. I welcomed the opportunity to experience this first hand.

The following day I met a half-caste Tlingit lady who invited me to drive with her to another old mining town, Atlin. We stayed in a drafty log house at the edge of Lake Atlin, from where splendid views could be enjoyed over the lake and surrounding mountains in the background. This town too had a sternwheeler on blocks, awaiting restoration. It rained quite heavily as I went for a walk along the edge of the lake to watch the incoming and outgoing float planes, flown by bush pilots to various destinations around the mountains. Once again my akubra hat and driz-a-bone coat served their purpose, keeping me completely dry in the pouring rain. While I was walking, I met a local lady bush pilot. I asked her if I could accompany her on a short flight. She agreed to take me early the following morning, but a half hour before we were due to leave a thick fog enshrouded the whole town and lake, making the flight unadvisable. Yet, just as suddenly, the fog cleared away leaving clear blue skies, enabling me to enjoy a wonderful flight over magnificent emerald green glacial lakes surrounded entirely by huge pine forests.

Just before crossing the border from Canada into Alaska, on the road to Skagway, it was necessary to descend the White Pass. On this winding road I had my first of many close calls with the Pearly Gates of Heaven. As I was running out of fuel and with the price of fuel being cheaper in Alaska, I decided to roll down the White Mountain Pass with my engine switched off. During this audacious and not so intelligent manoeuvre the steering wheel went into lock just as I approached a sharp bend! I almost pushed the brake pedal through the floor in my attempt to stop the van before rolling over the edge! My totally worn-out brakes stopped the vehicle within one foot of the precipice which would surely have ended my journey quite dramatically and most prematurely! The surprise and accompanying shock left me trembling with nervous energy! I had to get out of the car and relax a while before carrying on! As I examined the drop to the bottom of the gorge, I realised what a close call with death I had! Needless to say, I repaired my brakes as soon as possible after that frightening incident!

A lesson learnt for the intrepid traveller!

Skagway is the historical town where the gold diggers came in their thousands after disembarking from their sailing vessels which came from San Francisco and Vancouver in the late 1890s. From Skagway the gold diggers carried all their supplies across the Chilkoot Pass, an unbelievably arduous and onerous task that resulted in the deaths of many miners and their horses. I drove to the beginning of Dead Horse Trail and went for a hike along it, crossing streams many times and hiking along the precipitous banks. Today the hike is a pleasant jaunt in a beautiful forest, but for the first miners who crossed these treacherous trails, it was a hellish and terrible nightmare fraught with harrowing obstacles. In one summer alone three thousand horses lost their lives as a result of breaking necks and legs, etc. They were not well fed and consequently had little energy to haul heavy supplies up these steep mountain paths. At one time a landslide killed seventy men. This motivated the U.S. government to put in a railway across the mountains called the White Mountain Pass Railroad, W.M.P.R., which was completed in 1899.

Today, a restored steam locomotive and a diesel engine take tourists from the incoming cruise ships up the White Mountain Pass for half day trips. When I was growing up as a young boy, I often saw the steam engines shunting carriages at the town railway station where I grew up. As a result of seeing those puffing engines billowing sooty black smoke into the clear air and hissing white steam from beneath its giant wheels, I always dreamed to go onto the foot-plate of a steam engine. One of the motivators for making this journey included trying to achieve some of those boyhood dreams! When I heard the steam locomotive tooting its steam whistle, I immediately went in search of it and found it towards the docks. I asked the train driver if I could climb aboard! He kindly agreed and as we clanged and chugged our way down the railway track I felt exalted and totally exhilarated having achieved this dream. It was just the first of many more magnificent foot-plate experiences! I also enjoyed chatting with the train driver of the diesel engine as the it climbed the White Mountain Pass with paying passengers sitting happily in their tourist rail carriages. The train driver recounted the history of this particular railroad in vivid and descriptive detail, enabling me to visualise the difficulties and hard work required for this daunting project to be completed. I stayed in Skagway for several days, camping at the port and watching the cruise ships sailing in and out each day. The town, situated at the end of a magnificent fjord, draws tourists who come to relive those harsh and intoxicating days of the goldrush. The gold diggers' journeys took them from Skagway, across the White Mountain Pass, to Lake Bennett and to the Yukon River, where their passages continued on the sternwheeler paddlesteamers, of which only four remain in any sort of reasonable condition.

During my stay in Skagway, camping on the pier, ten cruise ships came to the port, including the "Daphne", a ship that was to feature in my life again a couple of years later when I took that ship for a memorable and  magnificent cruise visiting several Caribbean Islands. While the "Daphne" was in port, I climbed the gangplank and entered the ship, passing off as a boarding passenger. I had boarded many passenger ships before, over many years and in many different ports around the world. As I walked around their decks, I felt compelled to let my imagination carry me off to faraway places! On board the ship I met a passenger who invited me to work out in the gymnasium with her, followed by a pleasant jacuzzi in steaming hot water. As an adventurous traveller trying to become accustomed to the cold waters of the arctic rivers, this turned out to be a delightful pleasure indeed!

I continued the journey by taking the ferries through the Inside Passage of the western seaboard of Canada and Alaska, stopping off and visiting several fishing ports. One of these ports, Juneau, the capital of Alaska, thrives on tourism brought about by the incoming cruise ships. Cruising has become big business, with most ships operating in the Inside Passage during the summer months and among the Caribbean Islands during the winter months, where the tropical sun stays hot for most of the year. Many modern immaculately painted ships ply these waters, providing hospitable luxury to the thousands of passengers aboard, who indulge themselves on a holiday where all services are lavishly provided. There is intense competition between the various shipping companies to capture this highly lucrative market. The "Rotterdam" and "Westerdam" of Holland America Lines, the Princess ships of P&O Princess Cruises and the "Cunard Countess" and "Sagafjord" of Cunard Lines are just a few of these attractive vessels which, annually, bring thousands of joyous tourists to this beautiful part of the world. My highlight in Juneau was taking a spectacular flight in a seaplane over the enormous icefields near Juneau, viewing the Medenall and Taku glaciers from above and flying over picturesque fjords, before returning and flying directly over one of the cruise ships anchored in the bay in front of Juneau.

The next ferry went through some scenic narrow channels via several quaint fishing villages. The ferry stopped briefly to offload supplies and to take on other passengers for Sitka, which was the old Russian capital of Alaska. This region was initially settled by many Tlingit Indian tribes. During the ice ages people from Asia crossed the Bering Strait, then a land bridge, to wander south settling throughout the Americas. Russian fur trappers sailed across the Bering Strait in the 1700s and 1800s and trapped thousands of sea otter and beaver. They subdued the Tlingit Indians during their settlement. Eventually, when pelts became more scarce, the Russians sold Alaska to the U.S. This purchase (in 1867, for $7,200,000) was known as 'Seward's Folly' because William H. Seward, then Secretary of State, was responsible for buying what was considered, at that time, an expensive piece of real estate. Today, cruise ships come bringing their passengers who wish to gain a brief insight into those heady days. Apart from a Russian blockhouse there is nothing left of the old stockade. In a museum near the town centre, there is an interesting model of the Russian town during its brutal heyday, including an Indian village built outside the stockade.

I met a local Alaskan lady who took me for a hike into the surrounding mountains above Sitka where magnificent views of the Sitka Sound could be appreciated, with yet another cruise ship anchored in the bay. This hike almost turned out to be another disaster because my guide took an unfit female friend along and her thirteen year old daughter. The older woman's legs started to give way as she attempted to climb over the rocks of an unmarked trail. Both mother and daughter were not prepared for the extremes of temperature experienced at this altitude either, especially when it started to rain. At one point, high up on the mountain, my guide lost the trail. We decided to leave the exhausted ladies in the shelter of some low lying shrubs where they could snuggle up together to keep warm and prevent hypothermia from setting in. Meanwhile, we continued, eventually finding a steep muddy and very slippery trail that took us down to a rescue station in Sitka. The helicopter was out at the time rescuing others who became injured in a mineshaft collapse. However, on its return the helicopter flew over the mountain which we described and located the women, suffering from hypothermia. They were transported down and brought to the hospital nearby. These harsh experiences bring home the fragility of life!

I took another ferry to Petersburg where there were many old battered wooden wharves built on long timber stilts jutting out into the fjord. Nearby, along a shallow tidal creek, an additional weather worn boardwalk had some fishermen's huts built on them. At low tide and with misty rain enshrouding this scene in foggy murkiness, the true character of the traditional fishing village pervaded a winsomely engaging sense of charm to this lovely old town. I wandered casually along the boardwalks and jetties, where fishing boats were tied up and were rolling gently against the wharves. The smell of the sea and the sound of flying gulls overhead, enabled me to dwell pensively on this wonderful Alaskan scene. On the passage to Wrangell, some passengers spotted whales swimming close to the ship, their giant flukes moving gracefully as the whale surfaced, exhaled, took another breath of air, and dived again. Schools of porpoises were swimming about as well. The ship stopped a couple of hours in Wrangell before sailing again, this time to Ketchikan, some kilometres further to the south. After disembarking I drove the van to a fjord just outside Ketchikan, where I found a perfect camping spot amongst the trees. There were no people to disturb me as I went into the forest nearby to gather huckleberries and blueberries which I boiled over a campfire and made into a tasty jam.

Back in Ketchikan I embarked on the ferry to Prince Rupert. Along this passage, the Pacific Ocean swell comes through the Dixon Entrance and into the Inside Passage. These waves caused the ship to roll considerably but not enough to cause too much discomfort to the passengers aboard. We languished in comfortable seats as we crossed this more open expanse of water. Upon our arrival in Prince Rupert it was necessary to pass through customs because we were entering Britsh Columbia, Canada again.

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