MEG MADE IT OVER THE CHILKOOT TRAIL and down the Yukon River to Dawson City at the beginning of June, 1897. She had followed the trail of the legendary wolf, Yukon Sally, with Yukon Sally’s namesake pup, and another companion of ancient stock, the very young woman called Daisy.
Upon arrival, Meg and Daisy set up their tent amidst many, many others on the banks of the Yukon and Klondike rivers. Then Meg pushed her way through the crowds, most of whom were heading for the saloons, to find the post office. There was no letter for her but she was informed that only one load of mail had arrived; much more was expected with the arrival of more boats from the northern river route. Meg swallowed her disappointment and returned to their tent where Daisy awaited impatiently. They sold some of Meg’s goods, then, cash in hand, went looking for a saloon to eat and drink with other inhabitants of Dawson City.
Meg, being Meg, left the saloon early to get letters done to go out with next morning’s mail bag. She wrote first and quickly to O’Mara, urging him to come to Dawson City, if he possibly could, be it on leave, or on holiday. There was indeed a gold rush. She described the routes and how to get outfitted in Vancouver.
After sealing her heartfelt letter to Mick, Meg directed her pen to Alice and Jacques, describing her journey in some detail so that Alice might be entertained and Jacques would come fully prepared.
June 6, 1897
My dear sister Alice and Jacques,
I have arrived safely in Dawson City! It is now past midnight and we are in full daylight. The sun is shining and it is very warm. I am sitting in my tent with my “wolf,” at the door. She has stuck with me, every arduous and dangerous inch of the way. Never ran off once. Such a change in her, from the moment we stepped onto the Chilkoot! Normally when I hiked with her, she would run way ahead of me and off into the woods after the scent of rabbits or any other creature. But once on the Chilkoot, she became my guard dog, would not be separated from me, would let no harm come to me. Even accompanied me when I had to “go behind the bushes.”
Tomorrow morning, a river boat will be going downriver to the steamship port in Alaska, carrying the mail from here, along with a lot of very rich men. “Kings of the Klondike,” they are called. They have valises full of gold. Yes! Gold nuggets from the size of peas to the size of large eggs. All panned or dug out of the creek beds along the Klondike River. They have been working their claims since last autumn, gathering up loads of gold this spring, and now they are ready for a vacation, a high time of it, down in a real city, namely Seattle and San Francisco.
Dawson City is actually a makeshift settlement of tents and rough wooden buildings quickly erected on streets of mud. Riverboats began to bring in supplies only a few days ago, after the ice on the Yukon River had broken up, allowing me and company to get here as well. Interestingly, they told me the first boat to arrive is called the Alice.
This is very jumbled because I am so rushed to tell you everything, all that I have seen, before the letter gets put in the mail bag. But I have only one urgent message. JACQUES, COME HERE IMMEDIATELY.
Have the foreman take over the management of Clean Sweepers until you return. Alice, you and Jean can oversee him. Jacques can teach you the ropes quickly. Then send him off. Train to Vancouver. Get outfitted and supplies in Vancouver. I will attach a list. Take a steamer up to The Lynn Canal. Make contact there with Captain Moore, who will introduce you to a Chilkoot packer who will guide and carry supplies over the Chilkoot Pass. It is the fastest route. Make sure that you, Jacques, arrange with the packers to have a boat ride ready at the lake on the other side of the Chilkoot to take you to the Yukon River which will then take you quickly to Dawson. I will be here!
I am building a log cabin here as soon as I have sold the items I brought. That will be very soon. I was pestered from the moment I arrived with my three great packs. Brooms are in high demand! Have as large a load as you can transported here by train and then by steamer and boat up the Yukon River. These suddenly rich prospectors will pay up to twenty dollars for a broom. And almost as much for a toothbrush!
There are many dogs here to tend. There are no horses. This is boom town and dream city for the likes of me. And for you, Alice and Jacques, it could be your gold mine. I know there is much more gold to be discovered. You just have to GET HERE AS SOON AS YOU CAN, hike out to the creeks and stake a claim. It can be hard work, the digging and sluicing, but you can do it Jacques. I know you can.
I will tell you now about the Chilkoot Trail so that you, Jacques, will know what to expect. Thanks to Captain Moore I was able to hire the best of packers. Chilkoot Jack, they call him. I tried to use the native names of the Indians but they laughed at my ineptitude and told me to stick to their white nicknames. So I had Chilkoot Jack, and Clem and Tig carrying my loads. Jack is most impressive and handsome. He’s a Chilkat chief. All muscle and bone. Very sculptured high cheek bones and nose. Thick dark eyebrows. Almond-shaped eyes. A rather thin moustache and grim mouth. Over winter I had met Jack a few times. He was quite interested in my “medicine man” work with dogs but more important to him was the fact that I followed his advice of practice-hiking on the White Pass trail.
Clem and Tig, who are not taller than me, but a hundred times stronger, have a more ready sense of humour. They did not fully succeed in smuggling their amusement when they first met me in my hiking outfit. From a distance they had figured I was a young man in trousers and jacket, hiking boots and small pack on my back. Then when I spoke in my female voice … Oh well, they soon got used to me and they had a natural respect for my Yukon Sally who also carried her own small saddlebag pack.
Amy walked with us along the flat shoreline from Moore’s landing to Dyea. There we parted tearfully. We had become such good friends. I expect she and the captain will show up in Dawson come winter, if not sooner.
Back to that one-cabin place called Dyea … There waiting to join us was a very striking young girl, lithe as a ballerina, wearing doeskin boots and a light-weight dark wool coat that buttoned down to her knees. It looked serviceable for hiking. Her hair was black and braided, her eyes an unusual ginger colour. She had arrived from Juneau, called herself Daisy, but was known to Chilkoot Jack by an Indian name that translated as “Looks Like a Wolf.” She’s a curious combination of spunky yet cautious. She told me she’s sixteen but I think she’s younger than that. She says her father was a prospector who skipped out on her mother, a Tagish woman, when Daisy was eight years old. She went to school in Juneau, “on and off,” as she puts it, lived with her mother in a Tagish village for a while then went to work in a saloon in Juneau. She wants to be a singer in Dawson City. She has a beautiful voice. When she sings, Yukie howls in harmony.
Daisy is an agile hiker and a fearless traveller who made me buck up when I was ready to throw in the towel. Thus, Alice, I seem to have acquired another little sister!
The first day was relatively easy going, about ten miles, over sand, stone, some boggy bits and then the quite sparse forest that grows at the base of the mountains. There we were made to camp for the night. I felt up to doing another mile or so but Jack insisted that was far enough for the first day. He wanted us fresh for the beginning of the Chilkoot’s ascent next morning. Wise he was!
We had an excellent supper of fried fish we brought from Dyea and sourdough bread that I have learned to make. Our packers slept in their bedrolls out in the open because the night was clear. On other nights they would wryly use the extra tent I brought to sell in Dawson. I say “wryly” because they have a restrained sense of humour towards most everything I carry and the things we women do on this expedition. But they are glad of the tent when it rains, which is often on the Chilkoot! I am glad of the tent always, as some respite from the black flies and mosquitoes that plague the north at this time of year. I extracted a bit of mosquito netting from my pack to drape over my head, secured by my hat when the pests are at their worst in the morning and evening. Daisy also laughs at that. She has somehow become more immune to this plague of the north. But she was glad to sleep in my tent.
So did Yukie, eventually. She began the night by sleeping outside the front flap. But when darkness came, she scratched on the canvas. I untied the flaps. She gave me a lick and settled to sleep in the corner by my feet. Her only problem on that day’s hike was getting too hot. She has thrown most of her fur coat for the summer but still, whenever we came to a stream, she would lie belly down in it to get cooled off.
Next morning I moved quickly to complete my ablutions, cook breakfast of tea, bacon, and bread over the fire, wash up in the stream and pack up, as did Daisy. Jack, Clem, and Tig were ready to take off before breakfast. They sat with their backs to us in disgust, or perhaps muted laughter, at how long we scurried about before being ready to depart. We would go behind the bushes. Then I washed hands, face, neck, and underarms in the stream. Daisy followed suit. Then breakfast, which the men consented to join us in. They packed away the tents then waited for us to finish the dishwashing and pack up. The patience of Jack reached its limit when he saw me proceeding to brush my teeth, offering Daisy a toothbrush, and then to comb our hair into place.
“We move. Now!” Jack commanded.
“Let’s hit the trail, Meg, Yukie,” said Daisy. “The chief is mushing. Let’s hike!”
Ah, but it was no hike, that first mile. It was a climb. Suddenly up. Up. Up! The trail was like a steep earth-and-rock staircase, with no landings for respite, as we followed it ever upwards into the unknown. I had no breath to talk. Yukie was panting heavily, trying to get her footing on earth patches as she moved her body upwards and around rocks. I feared it was harder on her limbs than on mine. She faltered sometimes and so did I. So did Daisy. I thought of turning back, before Yukon twisted a leg. We should have taken the White Pass …
“Hey, Chief,” Daisy stopped, panting.
Jack turned around. “Keep moving. Not much further. Then flat. Hurts more if stop.”
“The chief has spoken,” said Daisy to me, then mouthed: “Let’s hope he’s not a liar!”
“Hike!” shouted Jack when he noticed Yukie about to lie down.
We all hiked. And sure enough. Just beyond our vision, the path that had felt like an endless staircase turned into a great forested landing. We were allowed to rest briefly. Daisy and I sat down gratefully on a log and massaged our groaning knees. Yukon Sally lay down, keeping her eyes alert to everything around. Jack and the others remove their packs only at midday and the end of the day. They sat with their packs on, propped up against a tree, waiting for us to finish our rest. I checked my pocket watch. Jack has no watch but somehow he instinctively limited our rests to fifteen minutes.
We got ourselves up and followed the path, quite soggy at times as we moved upwards through a lush green forest where every kind of leaf was glistening from recent rains and current dampness. Yukon lay down briefly in the cold-water creeks we had to cross, cooling the pads of her feet and her belly. When climbing the initial steep grade, my boots had felt like small boulders to be lifted at each step. Now that I was numbed to that weight, I had to get numbed to the feeling of squishy wet socks from wading through the creeks. I envied Daisy and the packers’ lightweight mukluks. She showed me that they have a double layer of insoles for endurance. But you need very strong ankles to operate in those on stony terrain.
We came to another resting place of spectacular beauty where we sat looking across a river to a great drop and a blindingly sparkling white ice field beyond. But thank the Lord, we weren’t required to cross that! Our trail went onward and upward through the forest. It had the awesome atmosphere of a cathedral where one is inspired to look upwards and wonder about the creator of all this. Though I realize that is the influence of my Christian upbringing. For in fact cathedrals are built to resemble the natural grandeur of ancient forests and mountains. And one should keep that difference in mind! Every so often I was brought to my knees by stumbling over tree roots and logs upon the trail when looking upwards instead of down. Daisy, who had never been over the Chilkoot but is used to that kind of terrain, got impatient with my exclamations at the wonder of it all.
“Eyes to the ground,” she said. “One foot in front of the other. The chief can’t carry your pack and you if you break a leg.”
At the end of the day, we came to a waist-deep river that had to be forded. Jack went straight into it, clothes, pack, and all, as did Clem and Tig. The campsite for the night was on the other side. Daisy looked at me. “Come on,” she said. “Bath time.” And waded in.
Jack had removed his pack, ready to wade in to the rescue if necessary. The current looked quite strong. I put the leash on Yukie and led her in with me. I had seen her swim back at Moore’s, in the canal, but I had never seen her swim like this! She pulled ahead going at full force and led me to the other side. Jack gave her a rare nod of approval as she emerged and shook the water from her soaking coat. Then she lay down where we were setting up the tents and fell promptly asleep. Just as Daisy and I wanted to do, but we had to get out of wet clothes, into our alternative set, hang up the wet stuff on branches and stagger around preparing bacon, beans, and tea over the fire Jack had built.
The men didn’t bother to change their clothes; in fact, had not brought a change of clothes. They dried themselves by the fire, ate quickly, and disappeared into their tent.
“Jack says it will rain tonight,” said Daisy.
I cared not. Got into my bedroll and fell to sleep. Woke up to a nightmare of thunder and lightning, with Yukie lying at my feet and a pile of damp clothes being tossed into our tent by Clem who said something grumpy then closed the flap of our tent. The rain pelted through the trees to the ground, faster and harder than the soil could absorb, forming rivulets and puddles round our tent. I then appreciated why Clem had our tent positioned on the higher ground on top of a platform of pine branches. But then the rain accumulated in the sags of our tent’s roof and seeped through in drops upon our bedrolls and faces. A rude awakening! Daisy and I sat up, reached up and heaved the pools of rain out of the sag of the tent and fell back asleep. Until it had to be done again.
In the morning we were roused by the voices of our men and the welcome sound of a crackling fire. “Good men!” said Daisy with a smile.
I certainly agreed. I learned to rely upon them as quite uncannily knowing and capable. They did not concern themselves much with cleanliness while on the trail. But in that too I learned to follow suit, shortening my morning ablutions to a splash of water on the face, a brushing of teeth. Yukie seemed well rested, eager to hit the trail.
The third day was more of the same, putting one foot in front of the other, again and again. That is all one had to do. But the incline was getting gradually steeper as we moved away from the riverbed and up the rocky trail of a canyon. Up and then down. Up and down and then up again, we trudged upon that trail. I can think of no other word but trudge. The ache in my upper legs as I lifted my feet up and then the surprising shakiness and pain at the knees when I moved downwards was repeated again and again. I looked up at the long steep trail ahead and feared I couldn’t make it. I was panting heavily, sometimes gripping rocks desperately while Daisy seemed to move surely as a mountain goat. She saw the grim look on my face.
“You’re fighting the mountain,” she said. “It’s not your enemy. Talk to it.”
“I can’t talk,” I gasped, “to anything!” I sat down.
“There!” she said. “It has you in its lap. Relax. It won’t throw you off. Just keep your footing and lean into it. Embrace and talk to it in your mind.”
What bull, I thought. What nonsense! But the more I thought about it and tried to apply it, the more it worked. Tension and fear had been sapping my energy. If I just kept putting one foot in front of the other, eyes on the trail just in front of my feet, relax, repeat, accept the trail as friend, not enemy to be conquered … it worked! Try it, Jacques. Embrace the mountain and keep a steady pace.
We came to a resting place where we could see above the treeline all the mountain peaks on either side of the Chilkoot Pass summit. They are enormous, dark grey rock peaks, with snow and ice spreading down their crevasses into canyons. The pass itself did not look formidably steep from that distance. It was alluring against the blue sky in the sunny afternoon. I definitely wanted to go up and over it.
“How about you?” I said to Yukie, who was lying panting on the rocky ground. “You up to it?” She sighed and closed her eyes. Not a moment of rest was to be wasted in stupid talk.
“Tomorrow,” said Jack, “we go over summit.”
Daisy spoke with him in Chilkoot then said to me. “Another couple of hours then we camp for the night. We should have a long sleep and rise early to make the summit at midday. Those rocks don’t look bad from here. But they are. They’ll be hardest for Yukie. Dogs have broken legs and died, trying to do that pass.”
“I’ll look after her,” I said. “Right Yukie?” She rose and walked ahead of me.
It was easy going from there to the camp site, the trail winding through brush and trees that grew shorter, thinner, and sparser, but still there was plenty of foliage, including wild geraniums. We saw mountain sheep and goats clambering around on the rocks in the distant heights. We had not heard the call of wolves since the first night on the trail.
“I guess they know better than to come this high up,” I said to Yukie after we had finished our dinner of smoked salmon and beans, washed down with mugs of black sweetened tea. Yukie sat up on her haunches and gave a sharp howl. I howled in response. Daisy began to sing.
“That’ll keep the grizzlies off our trail,” said Clem to the other men.
Jack got up, signalling it was time to get some sleep.
We were up and on the trail at 5 a.m. There was extra determination in our limbs as we climbed up and up beyond the tree line. When we came to an ancient avalanche of mountain boulders, Jack took up the position in front of Yukie, who was in front of me, so that he could show the precise footing on the narrow trail winding around the rocks and boulders. We reached a plateau where, looking upwards, we could see the narrow rocky pass which crawls over the summit of the Chilkoot Pass.
Then suddenly, there was a great creeping chill to the air and a blinding fog moved in. There was nothing for it but to draw close as possible together and keep moving up and up the trail, now treacherously slippery. I could hear Yukie’s claws scratching on the rocks trying to maintain her footing. I was literally on her tail, ready to steady her when she faltered. Jack took my pack so that I could be more agile. Clem had Yukie’s.
It seemed an eternity but we did get through the fog. Then the trick for me, was never, never to look back down the trail. It was dizzyingly steep. “Eyes front!” Daisy shouted at me from close behind when she saw the panic in my glance.
There was one more plateau where Jack made us stop to rest and drink cold tea from the canteen. Yukie slurped from a small puddle, lying flat on her belly in front of it.
And then there was what was actually named The Staircase. A steep rocky vertical to the summit, with no railing to cling to or help you up. Sometimes Daisy and I were on all fours like Yukie. I so feared that she would twist a limb or I would. We did not. We climbed that wretched thing for an hour. Nice mountain, I made my mind say, thank you for this staircase. We reached the top and literally fell upon the summit in a pelting, freezing rain. But who cared about being soaking wet. We had made it!
“Brave dog. Strong women,” Jack congratulated us.
“Great Chief. Strong men,” I said to them.
Daisy looked at me as she sometimes did when I talked too affectionately to Yukie. Then she said something in Chilkoot to the men that made them laugh, but she wouldn’t tell me what she had said.
As in the maxim in life, one does not stay at the top for long. Storms of wind, rain, sleet or snow, even in summer, can come whipping up out of the blue. Or so we were warned by Jack. We rested and sheltered under a rocky overhang until the heat generated by that last desperate, vertical climb began to dissipate and I felt shivery. The rain ceased and winds began to push fog around the mountain top. “Hike!” said Jack, waking Yukie and stirring the rest of us to rise and take up our packs. “We go down now. Camp. Rest by lake.”
And thus we moved on. Down the winding rocky trail. The fog was swept away and we could see in sunlight the most spectacular view of gorges with glacial snow. Farther down were flowing streams and then the calm sparkling turquoise lake where we could rest and sleep. The lure of that helped take our minds off the ache and shakiness in our legs as they accustomed themselves to descending rather than climbing.
There now! I have described the most difficult part of the long journey to the gold fields of the Klondike. The rest of the route is downhill, all the way to a long narrow lake known as Lindeman. It is twenty-six miles in all, from the beginning of the Chilkoot Trail at Dyea to the point of embarkment at Lake Lindeman, but it feels more like a hundred miles climbing up over the treacherous Chilkoot Pass. Once over the Pass and safely camped in a sheltered place for the night, we all fell quickly into the deep sleep of exhaustion. I slept the other way round in our tent so I could put my arm around Yukie and tell her how proud I was of her for making it over the Chilkoot. She was so tired she didn’t stir. But Daisy did.
“Know what your name would be in Tagish?” she said. “Sleeps With Dogs.”
Yikes! Just looked at my watch. I must conclude soon or I shall miss the outgoing mail.
We could hike at a more leisurely pace on our last day and night before reaching the shore of Lake Lindeman, which we did, next afternoon. There waiting for us, was a wooden boat, the size of a small lifeboat, plus two Tagish river guides to man it. Tagish Wally and Joe, they introduced themselves. They were well known to Jack and Co., who conversed easily with them. The Tlingit Chilkat have their own language but can make themselves understood to the Tagish and vice versa. I shook hands with them as I had with Jack and Co. Daisy kept her hands to herself as is her custom with her mother’s people. Like the others, our Tagish guides were startled then amused at shaking hands with a white woman. Jack then said something to them that further amused them but also seemed to reassure them that I was all right to do business with.
It was a warm sunny day. “We swim,” Jack announced but stood motionless.
Daisy and I looked at each other. We too wanted to swim, were desperate for any kind of bath and clean underclothes. “Translation,” said Daisy, considering Jack’s announcement. “We are invited to clear the scene, or join them.”
I started walking to another part of the lake’s shore. “I knew you would do that,” said Daisy, following, with annoyance. “Sleeps With Dogs,” she muttered. “Won’t swim with men.”
We stripped, crouched behind some fallen trees and ran with a dive into the shockingly cold water. The ice had not completely disappeared from it. That was our first and our last bath before reaching Dawson City. I tell you of this because I want you and everyone to know what perfect gentlemen these Indian men are, in my experience.
I felt sad to part from Chilkoot Jack and Clem and Tig. I shook their hands again, taking Jack’s hand in both of mine, thanking him profusely. He suddenly picked me up, carried me over to the boat and set me down in it. Yukie leapt into the boat and sat down in front of me. Daisy shook her head at my behaviour. She raised her hand in a formal salute of thanks and goodbye and got into the boat. We set off across the long, smooth, turquoise blue lake. Chilkoot Jack, Clem, and Tig walked back up into the mountains.
Yukie settled down with her innate good sense to enjoy this restful part of the journey with Wally and Joe rowing us expertly along Lake Lindeman towards the wider Lake Bennett. The water was turquoise blue, serene. Only the sound of the oars dipping. The shores were forested with thin pine trees and white birches, the mountains forming the horizon in every direction. They were lower and more rounded as we made our way farther into the interior north of this great land.
I wish I had time to tell you how expert our oarsmen were as they took us through the rapids between the lakes and then the really treacherous rapids on the Yukon River, where narrow canyons might have bashed us to smithereens. Daisy loved it. Shouted with glee. Yukie and I, partly tethered to the helm, crouched silent as wolves, braced with all our might. And we all came through, thanks to Tagish Wally and Joe, and floated easily three days downriver to the junction of the Klondike, amazed to find that hundreds of others had already made it to Dawson City. And they say hundreds more are coming. Make sure, Jacques, that you are among them. Hurry!
Attached is the list of essentials to be brought from Vancouver. Any extra quantities will be easily, profitably sold here.
With love to you, dear Alice and Jacques and darling little George, Victoria and Herbie. I long to hug you, each and all.
Auntie Meg
SUPPLIES
Food: flour, oatmeal, rice, beans, coffee, tea, baking powder, soda, yeast cakes, salt, pepper, bacon, dried fish and meat, evaporated fruit and onions and potatoes, root vegetables, canned butter
Clothes: rubber boots, leather boots, fur parka and mitts, gloves, several pairs wool socks, flannel underwear, thick shirts, trousers and jacket.
Tent, mosquito netting, blankets, shovel, gold pan, cooking utensils, candles, matches.
It was not until the last week of July that this letter was delivered to Alice. It was a warm but cloudy day in Halifax. The line full of diapers and children’s clothes hung still damp outside the house. The sudden shower in late morning had soaked them just when they were almost dry enough to bring in. A day like so many others in the current life of Alice.
She sat, reflecting upon the letter, in the leather chair that used to be Randolph’s, then Meg’s. But now it was occupied, like the house, by her, Alice. She had begun to worry about Meg, not hearing from her in so long. But wouldn’t you know it … all that money Jean Atkins had sent to Meg in Vancouver had turned into another lucky investment. Everything Meg did paid off. She always turned up in the right place at the right time. And hooked up with the most prosperous people. Randolph. And now she was with hundreds of men carrying around valises of gold. Kings of the Klondike, no less! Alice re-read the opening and closing paragraphs. The rest was tiresome detail of hiking with one pampered dog and some rather smelly Indians. Ugh!
The news of a major gold strike in the Yukon was no secret. Telegrams and headlines had been proclaiming that news across the continent since July 19, when a second ship loaded with a ton of gold from the Klondike had landed in Seattle. It was the talk of everyone ever since. Jacques, like every man of little consequence, had thought of running off to the Klondike. But as she had pointed out to him, it was a barefaced excuse to abandon his responsibilities and give in to the bottle, far from home. She refrained from telling him that with his luck and general weakness of character, by the time he reached the gold fields they would all be owned and prospering for others. No, she had refused to permit him to join the great herd of failures, rushing off to the Klondike.
But this letter changed her thinking. It was full of practical instructions. The route described, directions given, list of provisions included. It sounded remarkably easy, if you got better guides. You could probably pay to be carried over the pass on a chair, like Cleopatra. Alice smiled at the image of herself as Cleopatra. Then wrinkled her nose. Those Indian guides sounded too like grunting pigs. Surely better could be found.
Why is she requesting Jacques, and not me? Alice smacked the letter down. Why am I always thought to be of so little account? Alice had half a mind to tear up the letter in anger. But the other half led her to fold and put it away in the desk drawer. Locked. Until she decided what to do about it.