Paddling Into the Past

The roar of fast water pounding over rock sent a chill through my rain-soaked body as my six friends and I lined up our kayaks single file and prepared to enter the Yukon River’s famed Five Finger Rapids.

We had come to the mighty river, fourth largest in North America, to retrace the rush to the Klondike gold fields discovered in Canada’s Yukon Territory 100 years before. Paddling, camping and fishing our way the 430 miles from Lake Laberge near Whitehorse to Dawson City, where gold was discovered Aug. 17, 1896, seemed an excellent idea for a two-week summer vacation.

Before the discovery, a handful of miners had been searching the Yukon for gold since the mid-1800s. But not until the strike that August by George Carmack, Tagish (Dawson) Charlie and “Skookum” Jim Mason on a tributary creek of the Klondike River had a truly big find been made. Because of the remoteness of the region, word of the strike didn’t reach the rest of the world until the following July, when ships docked in San Francisco and Seattle with the first shipments of gold. Within weeks, the rush was on. Over the next two years more than 100,000 rushed to seek their fortunes on the Klondike.

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Whitewater kayakers we are not. Neither are we professional adventurers. We range in age from 45 to 66 and spend our weekends paddling the coast off Ventura, Newport and San Diego.

The lack of rough water was one reason we chose the Yukon, a river we felt anyone with all-weather camping skills and in reasonably good condition could negotiate. We also were intrigued by the river’s historic role as a route to the Klondike.

There were several routes--but the most popular and most direct was by boat up the Inside Passage from Puget Sound to Skagway, Alaska; up over steep Chilkoot Pass; and down to Lake Bennett. At Lake Bennett the Klondikers built boats or rafts and traveled down a chain of lakes to Marsh Lake, headwaters of the Yukon, about 50 miles south of Whitehorse. From there, Dawson City and the Klondike gold fields were a 500-mile float downstream.

But I had other, more personal reasons for being on the Yukon.

I turned 50 last year. And I wanted to celebrate with an adventure worthy of such a milestone.

Romantic images of the great North have intrigued me since childhood: Sgt. Preston, Jack London’s “The Call of the Wild,” Johnny Horton singing “North to Alaska.” And with the Yukon celebrating the centennial of the discovery of gold last summer, the timing seemed perfect.

I had studied, planned and prepared for most of the previous year. And on a cool cloudy day in August I pushed my boat into the surprisingly calm water of often moody Lake Laberge and the journey was begun.

But now--five days out and 24 miles past Carmacks, the only town we would encounter--we were facing Five Finger Rapids. And though the outfitters back in Whitehorse had assured us we would have no trouble, we were nonetheless a bit anxious as we made our approach. The Yukon’s relentless current, which ranges from 4 to 7 mph, would allow no turning back.

But after we made the turn to the rapids my apprehension began to fade, giving way to awe at the rugged, rocky beauty of the four tree-topped pillars that divide the river to form the picturesque fingers--the most photographed site on the Yukon.

As I watched the first kayak enter the rapids, I realized Five Finger Rapids was nothing but a noisy wannabe. There were no waves, no washing-machine churning. When my turn came, instead of the rocket ride down a narrow chute I had envisioned, there were only a few gentle bounces and out.

We had allotted 10 days to the trip and thus had a goal of 43 miles a day. But lacking the benefit of current in Lake Laberge, we made just 22 miles the first day, stopping at the abandoned village of Lower Laberge, where the great river leaves the lake and continues on its journey north.

At Lower Laberge, we spent the first of several cool rainy nights camping among spruce and aspen on a spongy carpet of moss. Nearby were abandoned log cabins and an old telegraph office, a rustic scene framed by the ubiquitous magenta of fireweed in bloom. On the beach was the skeleton of the gold rush paddle-wheel steamboat Casca.

Over the years there were three Cascas. Navigating the waters between Whitehorse and Dawson City was tough on steamers. After a number of years owners would gut the boats, putting the engines in new hulls and abandoning the old ones. This was the remains of the Casca’s first hull.

The next morning we packed up our wet gear and rejoined the Yukon as it left the lake to begin a section known as the Thirty-Mile, believed by many to be the most scenic of the trip.

As we pushed off into the suddenly swift water, we were excited to be on the river at last. As one of our party--Len Goodman, a retired Northridge garment executive--noted in his journal, “[We] are on our way.”

In the Thirty-Mile, the Yukon winds its way--you guessed it, 30 miles--between rugged canyons through forests of spruce, alder and aspen to the ghost village of Hootalinqua. It is narrow and clear here, not the silty mile-wide river we would encounter later. And it was beautiful, the scenery often distracting us from our paddling.

We saw our first bald eagle scanning the river for fish from its perch atop a spruce, and we responded with the excited clatter of camera shutters.

At Hootalinqua, the Teslin River joined the Yukon, and the river began to grow.

The second day was our longest, ending at 8:30 p.m. after we had paddled 52 miles. We were wet from the rain, stiff, tired, hungry--and cranky. Daylight wasn’t a problem because it remained light until 11:30. But our tents were still wet from the rainy night at Laberge, the abundant wood was soggy and my ornery little stove decided not to work. And as I struggled to prepare my evening meal, I began to have fleeting thoughts of my comfortable Ventura home and warmer vacation options--a little sun, a few margaritas, the buffet line at Club Med.

But after a dinner of garlic mashed potatoes and steak, I climbed into my cozy sleeping bag and was lulled by the patter of rain pelting my tent. And as I drifted off, I thought, “No, forget the easy life, this is where I want to be.”

Though we had been told the Yukon summers are warm and dry, we felt it important to be prepared for whatever the weather might bring. We had quality tents and sleeping bags, warm clothes and rain gear.

We were prepared in other ways too.

We had meals for 10 days, extra food for another four and a filter to purify drinking water. We had topographic maps, guidebooks and a compass to keep us on course. And we threw in plenty of insect spray and bear repellent (just in case). The latter is pepper spray in a large aerosol canister that can be worn in a holster on your belt--sold in many sporting goods stores in the Yukon. Unfortunately, you have to be close (6 to 20 feet) to use it effectively, and it cannot be transported on an airplane.

In telling a friend of the intense attention to detail necessary to prepare for the trip, I quickly realized not everyone is aware of the remoteness of the Yukon Territory. “Can you just buy what you need along the way?” my friend asked.

Uh, not exactly.

With Carmacks (population 470) providing the only interruption of wilderness on our trip--and with just over 31,000 people in the entire territory--there wasn’t a 7-Eleven around every bend.

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As we pushed toward the Twin Creeks area on our third day, a succession of clouds blocked the sun, taking the color from the landscape. The hills and sky turned shades of gray, the clear water became a cold pewter.

But as we pulled ashore to explore the gold-rush settlement of Big Salmon, built on an ancient native fishing site at the confluence of the Big Salmon River and the Yukon, the sun came out and the festival of color returned: the blues of sky, lupine and larkspur; the various greens of spruce and alder, moss and grass; the reds of rose hips, wild cranberry and myriad other berries whose names I never learned.

Inside one of the old log buildings were a table, wood stove, bed springs and a full bar of empty liquor bottles from around the world. One graffiti entry on a wall covered with many languages brought a chuckle. “J.B. spent the night with 40 mice.”

The sun was shining through an empty sky when we arrived at Twin Creeks, and we hurriedly pulled the wet gear from our boats and stretched it out to dry. Our camp looked like a laundry and reminded us of one of the more interesting stories we heard about the river.

A riverboat accident around the turn of the century dumped a barge-load of long johns into the Yukon where it travels through Lake Laberge. For days afterward, the red woolen garments could be seen hanging from every shoreline bush for miles downstream as pioneers took advantage of the steamship’s loss.

At Twin Creeks fellow campers warned us to beware: A mother grizzly and her brood had been seen shuffling along the bank across the river--a good place for them to stay. Though our campsites thankfully were never visited by bears, wildlife was abundant. And each new sighting sent a stir of excitement through our group.

A moose drinking from the river paid us little attention as we paddled by late one evening. Several times we saw black bears, once a mother with cubs, hustling quickly out of view. Then there were the bald eagles (and eagles, eagles and more eagles). A red fox hunting its evening meal. Canadian geese. And loons. In all, a menagerie worthy of a National Geographic video marathon.

The prize sighting was a wolf. Throughout the night, we had heard their eerie howls. And as we paddled away from camp the next morning, we caught a rare glimpse of one of the reclusive canines as it trotted from the river and ducked into a thicket of alder.

We broke camp at Twin Creeks as the sun dissolved a dense, low-lying fog, and headed for Carmacks, where we would spend the night in a developed campground, eat in a restaurant and take a hot shower. Along the way we passed Columbia Slough, named for one of the many early riverboat disasters.

On Sept. 25, 1906, the Columbian was headed for Dawson City carrying 3 tons of blasting powder on deck. As the boat passed the slough, crew members were on deck taking potshots with a rifle at the ducks and geese along the way. Reportedly, the boat’s fireman stumbled as he was taking his turn and the gun fired, the bullet striking the powder. Goodbye Columbian.

Also en route to Carmacks, we stopped at the unique graveyard at the native village of Little Salmon. Over each grave, a small house--complete with windows--had been built. A look in the windows of some of these spirit houses revealed shoes and other personal effects of the departed.

As we reached Carmacks we were approximately 170 miles from our put-in at Lake Laberge with 260 remaining to Dawson City. Despite how far we’d come, I still sometimes found it hard to believe I was on the mighty Yukon. We left Carmacks with one thing on our minds--Five Finger Rapids.

Piece of cake.

I fly-fished throughout our trip, catching many Arctic grayling. I found the scrappy trout-like fish easy pickings with any large dry fly. But I quickly released them before my bloodthirsty companions could claim the tasty fish for dinner.

The next morning we pushed on, stopping at Ft. Selkirk, mushing grounds of the fictional character Sgt. Preston and the great dog King. The Canadian government has restored the fort, giving visitors a glimpse of life on the river at the turn of the century.

Of the many streams joining the Yukon, the White River makes the biggest impression. The milky waters of the White are heavily laden with chalky volcanic ash from some prehistoric eruption. And where the rivers join, the now-murky Yukon turns cafe au lait. So great is the load of suspended grit, our paddles hissed as they cut through the water and our boats made scraping sounds as though they were being dragged across dry sand.

As we moved down river to Dawson City, we were counting the miles left with sadness. Our journey was almost complete.

The last night we camped two miles up river from Dawson City just so we could have another night on the Yukon.

As we came into Dawson City (population 2,019) the next morning one of our group said, “How quaint, a church on the outskirts of town.” To which Len replied, “That is the town.” We had timed our arrival to coincide with Discovery Days (this year Aug. 15 to 18), the annual celebration of the discovery of gold on the Klondike in 1896.

We spent three days in the rustic little city with its turn-of-the-century storefronts and dirt streets flanked by wooden sidewalks. We pampered chapped faces, cracked fingers and sore muscles, ate restaurant food, took showers at will and shopped for souvenirs.

But I was already missing the primitive hospitality of the river: a camp on a sandy river bar, the crystal waters of the Thirty-Mile, the splatter of rain on my tent to lull me to sleep at the end of a vigorous day.

And I took solace in knowing there remains 1,750 miles of the great river that I have not paddled, 1,750 miles that will lure me back to the grand, wild, beautiful North.

Writer and poet Robert Service, who spent time working as a bank official in Dawson City, knew the allure of this special region. And he expressed it stirringly in his classic poem, “The Spell of the Yukon”:

There’s a land where the mountains are

nameless,

And the rivers all run God knows where;

There are lives that are erring and aimless,

And deaths that just hang by a hair;

There are hardships that nobody reckons;

There are valleys unpeopled and still;

There’s a land--oh, it beckons and beckons,

And I want to go back--and I will.

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GUIDEBOOK

Yens for Yukon

Getting there: Take Canadian Air from LAX to Vancouver with connecting service to Whitehorse on Canadian Air; round-trip fares begin at about $835 including tax.

Where to stay:

Scandia B&B;, Ponderosa Drive, Whitehorse, Yukon, Canada Y1A 5E7; tel. (403) 633-5421. Rates: $43 single, $50 double.

International House B&B;, 17-14 Ave., Whitehorse, Yukon, Canada Y1A 5A7; tel. (403) 633-5490, fax (403) 668-4751. Rates: $40 single, $55 double.

Bonanza House B&B;, Box 302, Dawson City, Yukon, Canada Y0B 1G0; tel. (403) 993-5772, fax (403) 993-6509. Rates: $47 single, $54 double.L

Kayak/canoe rental: Among rental outlets: Kanoe People, Whitehorse; tel. (403) 668-4899, fax (403) 668-4891. Kayaks (singles): $326 for 16 days. Canoes (17 feet): $235 for 16 days. For more information: Canadian Consulate, Tourist Information, 550 S. Hope St., Ninth Floor, Los Angeles, CA 90071; tel. (213) 346-2700, fax (213) 346-2767.

Among useful river guidebooks are “The Upper Yukon River, No. 1: Whitehorse to Carmacks” and “The Upper Yukon River, No. 2: Carmacks to Dawson City” (Kugh Enterprises, Whitehorse, about $11 and $10 respectively).