ARCHIE SATTERFIELD

Some History

One of the odd facts about the Yukon River is that it begins less than twenty miles from the Pacific Ocean, yet travels more than 2000 miles (3,200 km) in a sweeping arc before it finally reaches that ocean. This westernmost reach of the river begins at Crater Lake just below the summit of Chilkoot Pass, that historic gap in the Coast Range that forms the boundary between Alaska and Canada.
The other irony is that the Yukon River was probably the first major North American river used by man, but was the last discovered by the restless Europeans working their way across the New World. This is not surprising considering its course through a rather hostile environment that discouraged merchants and their traveling salesmen of two centuries ago. It is that same environment that today limits its use for recreational purposes to only about one-fourth of the calendar.
Except for a few legends preserved by the Indians, little is known of life along the river before the arrival of the journal- and ledger-keeping white men. Our accurate knowledge goes only to the first contact between the disparate cultures and any records coming from that contact must be tempered with tolerance for cultural differences.
Traditionally, the Indians of the North, who now call themselves First Nations People, limited themselves to the forests and left the treeless tundra and Arctic Coast to the Eskimos, or Inuits. In the Yukon and Northern British Columbia, the area we're concerned with here, the Indians were broken down roughly into five major tribes: The Tagish in what is now the Whitehorse, Carcross and Tagish area; the Inland Tlingit, as differentiated from the coastal Tlingit in Southeast Alaska; the Tutchone, especially the northern branch, along the middle section of the river, and the Han in the Dawson City area.
Also playing a major role in the Yukon were the Chilkats of Lynn Canal, a branch of the Tlingits. The Chilkats were the middlemen in trading who dealt with the Interior Indians, exchanging fish oil and white men's trade goods with the Interior tribes for furs, horns and other products.
Little is known about them, except that they had an extremely difficult life. Their life could be a constant reminder, by the way, for those people from the southern part of the continent who plan to go north and live off the land. There are stories from the Indians' oral history of widespread famines over the years, deaths by freezing and occasional forays into cannibalism to survive. Living off the land was, and still is, a risky way to live in the Yukon. The cash economy has much to recommend itself if longevity, low infant mortality and general good health are one's goal in life. It is best to say this early in the book because when one goes on a leisurely trip down the Yukon River in midsummer when the temperature ranges up to 90 degrees, the sky fills with fluffy clouds and in the rich valleys the flowers grow and the moose and bear are seen on the river bank, then it is easy to think of the Yukon as a land of plenty.
The old-timers there will agree it is the land of plenty: Plenty cold, plenty months of minus degrees below zero; and plenty work to do during the short summer preparing for winter!
No one could have agreed more than the first white men on the Yukon. The first was Robert Campbell, who established Fort Selkirk at the confluence of the Pelly River and the Yukon in 1843, and the Russians who explored the upper river later. The summers and autumns were pleasant enough, but the long, cold winters, which confined the men to the tiny, smelly cabins for months on end was another matter. Considering the circumstances, one marvels that the white men, who had the choice, did not leave the employment of fur companies and head south to become farmers or clerks.
But it was fur, then gold, that brought the white men into the Yukon, and it was the latter that finally caused the Yukon to be settled by permanent white residents and to completely alter the landscape and the social customs.
The history of the gold rush will be told rather briefly here because it has been told so often in so many other books that one risks becoming repetitive before the books begins. A bibliography at the end lists the major books on the subject.
There are a number of versions of how the first gold on the Yukon was discovered and by whom. Was it an employee of the Russian American Trading Co., of the Hudson's Bay Co., both of which were more interested in fur than gold? Or was it a minister, as some versions insist? No matter; the gold was discovered on different feeder streams, the word leaked out and a trickle of prospectors began heading north. One must bear in mind that the 19th century America was addicted to gold rushes: Those in Colorado, in California and smaller ones in the Pacific Northwest. Gold rushes were part of the social order, a cultural inheritance and one of the very few activities by which ordinary people could acquire enormous sums of money.
It took several years for the biggest discovery, in the Klondike, to be made. In the meantime, prospectors worked the Yukon tributaries and found gold at Circle City, at Forty Mile, at Stewart River and dozens of smaller places. There wasn't enough for a big stampede; only enough to keep the prospectors interested and to justify having trading posts operated by men with a gambling spirit themselves. These traders would continue grubstaking serious prospectors, taking their losses with their gains, always believing the next summer, the next stream, the next prospector would hit it.
They hit the big one in 1896, when a white man named George Washington Carmacks and two Indians, Tagish Charlie and Skookum Jim, the latter his brother-in-law, made the great Klondike discovery on August 17 on a stream called Rabbit Creek, but immediately renamed Bonanza Creek.
Until this happened, a town called Fortymile had been the main settlement on the river because gold had been discovered on creeks leading into the Fortymile River. But the town was abandoned, almost overnight, as the miners rushed upstream, some aboard a small steamboat that arrived at the opportune moment, and others battled their way against the swift current, poling and tracking their boats to the Klondike River, and then up it a short distance to the Bonanza and other streams feeding the small river. Joe Ladue, one of the traders who was also operating a sawmill at Fortymile, moved his sawmill to a low, flat spot where the Klondike empties into the Yukon. Almost immediately he took out a land patent on the flats, paid his fee and established a town named for George M. Dawson, a Canadian geologist and explorer who was sent to the Yukon in 1887. Ladue became one of the first millionaires in the Klondike, and he did so without getting his hands dirty. As soon as possible, he returned to his hometown of Schuyler Falls, New York, and married the girl who had been waiting seventeen years for Ladue to earn what he, and her parents, considered was enough money to support her. Now this one-time destitute orphan boy was the wealthiest man in town. They were married. But the North had taken its toll. Ladue was a sick man and lived only four years longer.
The Klondike strike was the dream come true for prospectors. During the remainder of that summer and through the winter they took gold out, first by the ounce, then by the pound. When summer returned and the ice cleared from the river, many were ready to return to their homes and families in the United States (most were from that country rather than Canada, where the gold was found). Thus, it was eleven months after the strike before the rest of the world knew of the event.
The steamship Excelsior docked in San Francisco loaded with miners on July 15, 1897, but it wasn't until the coastal steamer, Portland, landed in Seattle after the men had gone down the Yukon by steamboat to St. Michael, Alaska, and caught the Portland, that the full impact of the strike was struck home. A newspaper reporter coined the magic words: "A ton of gold." That started the last, great gold rush and took several thousand inexperienced miners to a place none had heard of in a climate with a temperature range of 100 degrees or more.
There were various routes from the United States and southern Canada to the Klondike, and many were promoted by greedy townspeople and steamship lines that resulted in deaths, dismemberments and insanity. The stampeders went up through the interior of Canada from Edmonton, Alberta, an impossible route that killed most of those attempting it; the inland route from Ashford, British Columbia, equally hazardous; the Malispina Glacier route from Alaska; the Copper River route from Cook's Inlet; the "rich man's route," from Seattle to St. Michaels and up the Yukon River, which took more than a year; and finally the Chilkoot and White Passes.
The latter two were the shortest, probably the easiest when all alternatives are considered, but certainly no wilderness jaunt as described by the old California poet, Joaquim Miller, who ambled into the gold rush and trivialized it with his ill-informed opinions sent to newspapers around the country. Another California writer, John Muir, happened to be in Alaska when the gold rush began and he more accurately described the activity around Skagway as looking like a nest of ants stirred with a stick.
Theoretically, these two best routes were simple. The stampeders took ships from San Francisco, Seattle, Vancouver and Victoria up the Inside Passage to the head of Lynn Canal to Skagway and Dyea. From Skagway, they went over White Pass only 40 miles (64 km) to Lake Bennett. From Dyea, which is 9 miles (14 km) from Skagway, they went 26 miles (42 km) to Lake Lindeman, or 8 miles (13 km) farther to Lake Bennett.
Once over the passes, they had to do no more walking. The rest was down the chain of lakes and into the Yukon River and north to Dawson City and the Klondike gold fields. Simple.
Not really. First of all, they had to somehow get roughly a ton of gear from tidewater at Skagway and Dyea over the passes to the lakes. The Canadian Mounties posted at the summits of the passes, which is the international boundary, required each person to bring in at least a year's supply of food. Their requirements brought the weight up to 1150 pounds (522 kg). Add to that the clothing, tools, firearms, etc., that each person would bring, and it roughed out at a ton.
This had to be either carried on the owner's back or a back he hired to carry it. There were packers with strings of horses and mules on White Pass, but the cost was as high as the market would bear. Horses could not operate well in the Chilkoot because it was too rough. So enterprising businessmen built aerial tramways. In the early stages of the gold rush, Chilkat Indians hired out as packers, but they gradually priced themselves out of business.
This was part of the problem. Other facts included wintering over in the mountains with the blizzards that are common, frigid winds, low temperatures, epidemics of spinal meningitis, theft, murder and avalanches.
After they got themselves and their gear to the lakes, they then had to build or buy boats. They had to saw the green spruce and pine and build a craft that would get them through the lakes, down the river, through the rapids at Miles Canyon and below, then on down the river.
During that mad winter of 1897-98, stampeders were strung out along the trail all the way from tidewater over the passes, beside Lake Bennett, Tagish Lake, Marsh Lake and down the river to Lake Laberge and beyond. All were waiting for the ice to clear from the river and lakes, and those below Lake Laberge were the first to get under way in the spring of 1898 since the river ice clears first.
By the second week of June, the scraggly armada began arriving in Dawson City, all 7000-odd boats and rafts. But they were presented with a bad joke. In spite of their efforts during the past several months, all the claims worth staking had been taken by prospectors already in the Yukon. For most, the gold rush was an exercise in futility. Many caught the first paddlewheeler back down the Yukon to St. Michaels, Alaska and home. Others stayed to work for wages because they had no more money. The great gold rush became a bittersweet memory.
In the meantime, another enterprise was underway that would give permanence to the Yukon River as a transportation corridor. A railroad, to be called the White Pass & Yukon Route, was being built under extremely hazardous circumstances over White Pass. The narrow-gauge rails were stretched to Lake Bennett, which took the walking out of the passes for prospectors and pack animals (which by the way, had died by the thousand), and finally past the treacherous Miles Canyon, Whitehorse and Squaw Rapids to a spot where steamboats from downriver could land.
Thus began the steamboat and railroad era of the Yukon that lasted until the early 1950s, when highways were built and air service established. The railroad still exists and probably always will. The steamboats disappeared from the river.
But for more than 50 years, the steamboats were there. More than 200 were built and operated on the river at different times. They hauled passengers, ore, supplies, and you-name-it between Dawson City and Whitehorse. From Whitehorse to the ocean at Skagway, the narrow-gauge trains took over.
While the WP&YR was under construction, gold was discovered near Lake Atlin. There is a romantic story that tells us Fritz Miller and Kenneth McLaren took a wrong turn somewhere on Chilkoot or White Pass and ended up in the Atlin district. Shrugging, they started panning and lo! gold.
Unfortunately, that is not the case. Nor is it true that a dying prospector with a sack of gold and a rough map led to the discovery there. The facts, on the other hand, appear to be that Fritz Miller's brother, George, went over the Juneau Icecap to Lake Atlin in 1896 and found "colors" but spent an equal amount of time hiding from Indians.
Two years later, in January 1898, Fritz Miller and Ken McLaren went over to check the prospects for themselves and chose an easier but longer route. They went up the White Pass Trail from Skagway, then swung east from Lake Bennett to Tutshi Lake, down the Tutshi River to Tagish Lake, down it to Grahame Inlet, east up it to the Atlin River, along its banks to Lake Atlin, across it by leaky skiff to the east shore and the feeder streams where the gold was supposed to be.
They found gold on Pine Creek, but left with summer for more supplies in Juneau. They turned around and headed back to Atlin with six other prospectors and the rush to Atlin soon began.
When word leaked out, the crews working on the White Pass & Yukon Route roadbed began a mass exodus to Atlin, walking off the job with nearly all the railroad's shovels firmly in hand.
Later on, the Atlin mining followed the course of the Klondike gold fields and hand labor by individual miners was replaced by corporate endeavor and huge dredges.
The steamboat era that followed the gold rush at Dawson City and Atlin and lasted 50-odd years figured prominently on the headwater lakes. The railroad took care of the major problem of Miles Canyon and the rapids just below it by running tracks to the downstream end of the rapids to meet the steamboats coming up river. Consequently two separate steamboat routes developed: One operated on the Yukon River from Whitehorse downstream to Dawson City, and another operated on the headwater lakes from the railroad at Carcross over to Atlin. The lake boats were smaller than the flat-bottomed riverboats, and they also had keels because shallow water was not a concern and they needed the ballast for stability in the strong winds that routinely blew down off the Juneau Icecap across the long lakes. Their route ran south from Carcross to the mines on Windy Arm; east on Tagish Lake and then south onto Taku Arm and straight down its length to the delightful Ben-My-Chree (about which more will be said later) and a variety of mines and settlements, and then east on Grahame Inlet to the small, narrow-gauge railroad that ran beside the Atlin River to Lake Atlin.
This railroad was the shortest line in Canada at the time, and certainly one of the shortest—at just over two miles (three km)—in the entire world. It was built to haul cargo and passengers in open cars from the Grahame Inlet station called Taku along the riverbank to Lake Atlin's Scotia Bay, where other steamboats were waiting. The tiny train engine, named "The Dutchess," ran forward one way, reverse the other.
"The Duchess" is still in the lakeshore at Carcross. In Atlin, the lake steamboat, Tarahane, has been beached on Atlin's waterfront and is being restored by the local historical society. For many years the "Tutshi,” the only other surviving lake steamboat, was also on display in Carcross but it was burned by a vandal.




The Headwater Lakes


Lake Bennett was the end of the Chilkoot and White Pass Trails during the gold rush, and for many years was the lunch-stop for passengers and crew on the WP&YR. Trains from both Skagway and Whitehorse met at Bennett at midday and everyone had a boarding-house style roast beef lunch before continuing the trip. The train crews are changed here; Canadian crews run between Whitehorse and Bennett, American crews back and forth between Skagway and Bennett.
Only a few traces of the gold rush remain around Bennett. The most prominent relic is the old church on the hill looking down the lake. It was begun in 1899, when several hundred men were still at Bennett, some working on the railroad, others either getting ready to head down the river to the Klondike or working in the shipyards at Bennett building vessels ranging from paddlewheelers to skiffs and rafts.
When the railroad was completed the boatyards disappeared virtually overnight, and the church was left unfinished. The exterior was completed, but there are no walls, no floors and an uncompleted ceiling inside. The railroad and government have kept the church from gracefully falling in on itself, and funds are being allocated by the Canadian federal government to preserve it.
Clustered around the church are some cabins and shacks used by trappers or migrant squatters laying over in Bennett on their way elsewhere. Those that are in decent shape are usually occupied; the others offer little more shelter than a spruce tree.
On the hilltop behind the church is a cemetery dating back to the gold rush era, and a footpath leads up the stream that connects Lake Bennett and Lake Lindeman. However, it peters out when the going gets rough. The Chilkoot Trail follows the high ground over the rocks between the railroad and the stream, and winds back through the thin timber to Lake Lindeman and up the chain of lakes to the summit.
Just below the church on the lakeshore is a group of pilings built during the brief steamboat era on the lake, and against the steep bank directly beneath the church is a series of cavities dug out of the sand bank. These depressions date back to the gold rush when the stampeders leveled out sites against the hillside for tents and cabins.
Lake Bennett was named by Lt. Schwatka during his trip in 1883 to honor James Gordon Bennett, the publisher of the New York Herald Tribune who sponsored the Stanley search in Darkest Africa for Dr. Livingston. It is 26 miles (41 km) long with steep mountains jutting up from either side at the southern end. The Bennett Range rises on the west side and a series of peaks on the east side crowned by Montana Mountain, 7280 feet 2219m), about halfway down the lake.
The southern section of the lake is never more than a mile wide and usually less than a half-mile wide, and has all the classic characteristics of a fjord. Campsites are sparse along this section, except on the east side between the WP&YR tracks and the lake. The best campsites are found on the small, low islands that form the boundary between British Columbia and the Yukon. Farther north, beyond the entrance of West Arm, are some campsites on the west side. But you must use caution crossing the lake near the West Arm entrance due to the strong winds that frequently whip down from the Coast Range.
The scenery along the lake is spectacular with sheer cliffs jutting upward from the water's edge and numerous waterfalls streaming down from melting snowfields above. The lake water is tinted green and the bottom is visible to forty feet below. The most spectacular scene on Lake Bennett is southwest down the open end of West Arm. The row of high, snow-covered peaks of the Coast Range are on view and gives the lake a sudden, arctic look quite different from the lower, barren peaks closer to the lake.
Lake Bennett ends at the small community of Carcross, where a very short stream empties Lake Bennett into a small lake named Nares, which in turn feeds into Tagish Lake. Carcross originally was called Caribou Crossing because the woodland caribou (as differentiated from the migratory caribou of the Arctic Coast) used the shallow stream as a crossing. Most historians give Bishop William Carpenter Bompas, the famous Anglican priest who lived in the Yukon for years before and during the gold rush, credit with naming the town because he was fond of abbreviating whenever possible to save himself from writer's cramp. Another less colorful version is that another town elsewhere in Canada already had the name of Caribou Crossing, so the abbreviation was adopted.
Carcross has become a thriving town in recent years a post office, hotels with bars and restaurants, a general store, service station and railroad depot. It is a popular stop for tourists traveling alone and in groups. Across the railroad bridge, on the south side of Nares Lake, is the Indian community and cemetery where Skookum Jim, Tagish Charlie and Kate Carmacks, George W. Carmack's first wife, the co-discoverers of the Klondike gold were buried.
Nares Lake is a shallow, narrow lake that more closely resembles a broad, slow river. It is three miles (five km) long and connects Lakes Bennett and Tagish. It is picturesque with Nares Mountain rising on its north side and Montana Mountain on the south. The shore is wooded with willow, spruce and poplar and has several open grassy areas. Most of the best camping sites are on the south shore. Nares usually is very calm and offers a brief respite from fighting the swells of the larger lakes it connects.
Tagish Lake is about 17 miles (27 km) long from Nares to the broad stream that connects it to Marsh Lake. About three miles (about 2 km) down the lake on the southern side is Windy Arm, a fjord that juts southward into the Coast Range and terminates beneath Mt. Racine and Mt. Conrad. Because of the winds that sweep down from Windy Arm, it is best to follow the north shore of Tagish Lake when crossing the entrance of Windy Arm. The best camping sites are also along the north shore, which has a series of low, terraced flats with small streams emptying into the lake.
After passing Windy Arm, the scenery opens up considerably and the surrounding mountains take on a gray color. Some boaters recommend crossing the lake to the south shore beyond Windy Arm to take what protection the shore has to offer from the prevailing south winds and just before the entrance of Taku Arm, cross back again to the north shore so the south wind will be almost directly from the stem. Often boaters can see the whitecaps of Windy Arm and Taku Arm a mile or two away, which will give adequate time to switch sides of the lake. At the risk of being repetitious, it is wise to allow extra time while traveling the lakes to sit out rough weather. More lives have been lost on Tagish Lake where Windy Arm enters than any other place along the lakes or Yukon River.
Windy Arm is similar in appearance to Bennett sans the railroad, with steep mountains rising from near the lakeshore. It is 12 miles (19 km) long and limited of campsites. About four miles (about 3 km) south on the west side is the abandoned town of Conrad, which had hotels, stores, restaurants and churches during the first decade of this century. It was the headquarters of Conrad Consolidated, Ltd., which operated a mine nearby until 1912 when the town and mine were abandoned. A few old buildings including the mine itself remain along with relics of the period.
At the end of Windy Arm is a three-mile-long portage trail that leads over to Tutshi Lake, a long, narrow and curving lake some 200 feet higher than the larger lakes around it.
Continuing east on Tagish Lake past the Windy Arm, still another lake comes into it from the south, this one named Taku Arm, which will be discussed later. Where the two lakes join, civilization returns in the form of summer homes built mostly by Whitehorse residents on the north shore. Most are clustered along the broad, shallow stream that connects Tagish and Marsh Lake. Here the water becomes shallow and power boaters should throttle back, watch for the bottom and stay in the middle of the stream. The river moves at about two miles (about 1.5 km) per hour and offers excellent lake trout fishing.
The small town of Tagish is near the end of the stream just before it enters Marsh Lake. A spur of the Alaska Highway, which runs from Jake's Corner to Carcross and up to Whitehorse, crosses the stream at Tagish and often so many people will be fishing on the bridge that you have to be careful to avoid getting entangled in a line.
Tagish is the site of the first permanent establishment of the Mounties, who set up a post there to collect customs and serve as a checkpoint for stampeders enroute to the Klondike. Before that, the Tagish band of Indians had camps there because of the good fishing and hunting nearby.
This site is also the junction of the two lake trips. The first, just described, is of the beginning of the water route to the Klondike. The next chapter describes an alternative headwater lakes trip which brings boaters to Tagish.




From Lake Atlin to Tagish

Many travelers believe Lake Atlin and the small town of Atlin is the most beautiful area in the North. It is the largest natural lake in British Columbia and is 66 miles (106 km) long and from 2 to 5 miles (3 to 5 km) wide. It is studded with islands ranging from tiny rocks to the vast Teresa Island with 6,755-foot (2059 m) Birch Mountain. The view across the lake from the town of Atlin is one of the most impressive anywhere in the world. Not far away Atlin Mountain 6,656 feet (2028 m) rises majestically from the lake and a rock glacier flows slowly, steadily from a cirque high up on its face.
The town of Atlin has an easy-going charm, which is being preserved by the new people moving there—many immigrating from the United States—who want to keep the casual life of semi-isolation. Atlin is 61 (98km) miles south from the Alaska Highway over a gravel road, and a total of 113 (181km) miles from Whitehorse. Since the road ends at Atlin, it is not one of those places travelers see on their way somewhere else; they must be headed for Atlin if they are going to see it.
The visitor to the town should plan on extra time to drive out to the ghost town of Surprise at the head of Surprise Lake east of town a few miles. Old gold mining operations and abandoned dredges are scattered along Pine Creek, and a few miners still work and rework the old claims.
An ideal way to see this chain of lakes--Lake Atlin, Grahame Inlet, Taku Arm and out to Tagish and Marsh to intersect with the route just described--is to rent a freighter canoe in Whitehorse and arrange to have it taken to Atlin, then follow this route to Whitehorse. This makes an excellent trip for a two-week vacation.
The shore of Lake Atlin is virtually deserted today. Only a handful of summer cabins and trapper’s shacks can be seen along the route. It isn’t unusual for campers to travel this route and not see another boat on the entire trip.
A suggested route is to cross the lake from Atlin and follow Torres Channel south between the west shore and Teresa Island. This avoids the open lake that can become very rough and takes you along the western shore with the Coast Range to the west and the clusters of islands to the east. This route is by far the most beautiful way to see the lake because the scenery on the eastern shore is not dramatic. Early in the summer you can see cow moose and calves on the islands, where the cows take them for protection from predators.
Excellent campsites are at the southern end of Teresa Island and on the small islands south of it, such as Copper Island. The most protected campsites appear to be on the northern side of Copper Island in what is known locally as First Passage (the first route from the north between the islands back to the open lake). Second Passage is a wider body of water and more exposed to wind on the shore. The numerous bays and inlets that can confuse you while seeking a passage through to the open lake, and it is best to ask for recommendations and landmarks to watch for before leaving Atlin.
The following day, if the weather is calm, you can go on down the lake to Llewellyn Inlet and hike back to the glacier. Since there are several unpredictable factors involved in traveling on such a large body of water, it is best to break camp and carry everything with you rather than leaving your gear at the first night’s camp. You might be raided by a curious, hungry bear; you could become marooned by a storm; you might want to stay at Llewellyn longer and camp there, and worst of all you might forget your landmarks and spend hours looking for your portable home.
Llewellyn Inlet curves around a point, then heads straight back to the Coast Range and Juneau Icecap between sheer cliffs on either side. The trail to the glacier begins at a gravel beach to the west of Llewellyn River, and the trailhead is very protected from the wind.
The trail is named the Stewart James Trail in honor of the late Mr. James who led tourists back to Llewellyn Glacier. The trail heads up through the gnarled and wind-twisted timber, over boulders and finally down to the moraine plain where the glacier has receded. By crossing the stream at a shallow spot, you can walk all the way to the glacier's snout, which stretches for more than a mile across the valley floor.
An alternate, shorter route follows the stream on the west side to an outcropping of rocks that gives a high, overall view of the glacier and mountains behind. Right at your feet is a clear stream emptying into the glacier milk river that creates a green ribbon in the white river.
The trailhead is an excellent place to camp in case of heavy winds that can sweep down from the icecap in the afternoon and evening. Generally, the early mornings are calm and you can get out of the inlet and back into the protection of the islands before the heavy winds return. It is worth noting here that the deepest spot measured in Lake Atlin is 800 feet (243m), at the head of Llewellyn Inlet.
After returning to Atlin, you should re-provision and top off fuel tanks because it is the last chance until Tagish, which is more than 80 miles (130 km) by a direct route and about 120 miles (193 km) if you make all the recommended side trips.
The river begins at Scotia Bay, across the lake to the northwest from Atlin. Remains of a railroad depot and traces of the roadbed lead back into the timber. Just below the head of the river are some old, rickety platforms out over the river used by sports fishermen when the railroad was in operation.
You might also consider hiring of a guide in Atlin to help you down the Atlin River. The two-mile-long river runs at about 10 miles an hour and is filled with rapids, boulders, backwashes and shallows. It is very dangerous for canoes and kayaks, less so for larger boats. It should be run in late June or early July before the high water period in late summer, when the force of the current literally stands the river on its edge in a few places.
Atlin River is difficult to scout from the bank because the railroad bed does not follow closely to the bank. It involves a great deal of brush beating to study the stream before taking it on. When the water is lower in the early summer, the main danger is hitting rocks just below the surface and losing a shear-pin or propeller. To run it without first scouting it involves considerable guesswork because of its shallowness and the inability to quickly maneuver a power boat.
Obviously, many boats and canoes have run the river with absolute safety, and this is not intended to scare everyone away from it. But it is meant to encourage caution. There have been drownings on the river, some by experienced whitewater kayakers and canoeists.
When the river empties into Grahame Inlet, the safest route is to run on out into the inlet a few hundred feet to avoid the shallow bottom, then swing back around to the railroad station at Taku, where there are sheltered places to tie up out of the wind.
Taku is privately owned now, but the owner generously permits camping with the plea to leave the area clean. It is an interesting place to camp and poke around the old buildings and railroad shops. The waiting room still has the benches for passengers' convenience and there are numerous tools and pieces of railroad equipment scattered around. The dock is sagging, but still has three narrow-gauge flatcars parked there that were too heavy or expensive to transport out when the steamboats stopped running. Offshore a few feet is the hulk of a steamboat resting on the shallow bottom, and back up in the brush are several small cabins in which railroad workers lived. Some still have furniture in them, but vandals have done their duty and tom much of the furniture into debris.
There is excellent grayling fishing at the river mouth and Grahame Inlet is noted for its lake trout fishing. You can easily spend an extra day at Taku hiking along the lakeshore or up the old railroad right-of-way, fishing and trying to imagine the area thirty years ago.
Two miles down the inlet from Taku is an abandoned sawmill with a group of cabins and machine sheds in good condition. A hunting guide uses the cabins in the autumn, which probably accounts for their good condition. Outside are numerous saw blades, a steam plant, belts, etc., and several piles of rough-sawn lumber left unsold or undelivered when the sawmill closed. It was built in part to cut ties for the Taku-to-Scotia Bay railroad, but also provided lumber for home building and other uses in the area.
Grahame Inlet runs 16 miles 25 km) from Taku to Golden Gate, where it enters Taku Arm. A few homes have been built along its shores, mostly summer residences.
Grahame Inlet leads into Taku Arm at a place called Golden Gate, named for the brilliant fall colors in the area and the marvelous view of the mountains that as you enter Taku Arm. Like the other long, narrow lakes of this area, Taku Arm is noted for its heavy swells. It is best to head directly across from Golden Gate to the western shore from Golden Gate, then follow that shore south. When the arm swings sharply to the west toward Ben-My-Chree, it is safest to cut across to the opposite or south side, and follow that shore on to the end. The return trip with a following sea can be made on the eastern shore to see both sides of the arm and the old mine and town over there.
Taku Arm offers very few campsites along either shore because it is rocky and hemmed in by steep mountains on both sides. By following the shoreline closely, an occasional smooth beach can be found among the rocks. Due to the unpredictable weather, many boaters do not explore the southern half of Taku Arm below Golden Gate. But the trip is worth whatever discomfort may result. When you reach the final curve in the arm and the Florence Range stands up directly above the icy water, sheer as a canyon wall to more than 7,000 feet (2133 m), the spectacular view is one that is not duplicated anywhere else in the area.
If you cannot continue on to the end of the arm, a small, rocky island near the south shore has good campsites sheltered from the wind and with good beaches for tying up the boat away from the waves. Here, you can pitch a tent with a view out to the stunning Florence Range and watch the midnight sun manipulate the colors of the rock walls and the snow on top.
At the very tip of the arm are the remnants of a long, rickety pier sticking out over the mudflats from the glacial silt. This is the entrance to the charming ghost town of Ben-My-Chree. To avoid having to play steeplejack and climb up to the dock, it is best to follow the shallow stream on the right, or north, up beside the cliff and beach the boat beneath the pier. Ben-My-Chree began its colorful history as a mine up in the hills above the buildings. Unfortunately, the mine collapsed and the owners never reopened it. Instead, they began importing plants and trees from all over the world and turned the place into a garden. The owners, Mr. and Mrs. Otto Partridge, came from the Isle of Man and named the place, which in Manx (the Isle of Man language) means "girl of my heart."
Partridge joined the gold rush but got no further than Lake Bennett, where his skills as a boat builder were badly needed. He operated a boatyard called the Bennett Lake & Klondike Navigation Co. building one model of paddlewheelers for the lakes and another flat-bottomed version for the river. Interestingly, any steamboat that went to the river could never return to the lakes again. Once they made it safely through Miles Canyon and over the White Horse Rapids, they were unable to cross these navigational barriers again.
After the railroad put his boatyard out of business, the Partridges and a family friend operated a gold mine in the Coast Range beyond the very tip of Taku Arm. The mine collapsed and killed 10 workmen, and the Partridges lost all interest in mining. In the meantime, their home, Ben-My-Chree had become a garden spot. The Partridges loved flowers and growing vegetables, and by a fluke of nature they lived in a microclimate of moderate temperatures in an otherwise hostile climate. The WP&YR steamboats that ran from Carcross to down the lakes began stopping there on a regular basis. Passengers tramped down the long pier and onto solid ground to follow a trail that led between pine, fir and numerous kinds of shrubs. They were served tea and cakes and rhubarb wine, and were free to stroll out among the formal gardens and sit in a gazebo with a small, cold stream running through it.
After their deaths six months apart in 1930 and 1931, the transportation company, WP&YR, continued operating the garden spot until 1955, when the Tutshi was beached forever at Carcross. The Partridges had been squatters on the land, with the blessings of the British Columbia government and had never actually owned the land. The informal arrangement continued while WP&YR maintained the place, but when the steamboats stopped and WP&YR abandoned the place, the government put the property up for auction and a Vancouver family bought it as a summer place. Today Ben-My-Chree now is owned by a Vancouver, B.C., resident.
Due to its isolation, Ben-My-Chree has not suffered the ravages of vandalism to the extent of other stops along this route. The buildings are still in relatively good shape, the furnishings are intact, and in one building is a bulletin board with several hundred business cards thumbtacked there over the years by visitors. Part of the pier has sagged down to the mudflat, but the whimsical statuary still stand in the yard, including a gigantic wooden mosquito and a dwarf prehistoric monster.
The next stop of interest on the return trip is at the Engineer gold mine on the east shore about 10 miles from Golden Gate. It is one of those heartbreaking stories among mining circles of a site that had the gold, but never quite enough. It received its name from the fact that a group of engineers working for WP&YR discovered it and began operating it in 1899. It was sold in 1907, then idled by litigation, then opened again in 1924. In 1930, a power dam was built on the Wann River, a few miles south of the mine, barely in time for the mine owners to run out of operating capital and close it again. The mine has not been in operation since, but there are always rumors that this or that group is going to open it again.
A trail leads from the mine back down the lakeshore to the power dam, now gone, and a cluster of buildings still stand. Some are owned by summer residents. The mine building runs up the hillside and shows evidence of numerous additions as the mine was enlarged.
As Taku Arm runs past Golden Gate, it narrows somewhat and several islands of various sizes are scattered around. Campsites are abundant north of Golden Gate, and most boaters select one near a stream entering the lake because it is easier to catch grayling at a stream's entrance. The west shore is steeper and less marshy than the east side. It is recommended that you stay on the west side because there will be fewer mosquitoes than in the marshy areas. One of the few places you have to watch the bottom is near the entrance of Deep Bay where islands stand in the middle of the lake. There are pinnacles sticking up that lead from the shore to the islands, and can be easily avoided by watching for them in the clear water.
The beauty along upper Taku Arm is so constant, yet changing, that it is easy to take it for granted. It is not the rugged, spectacular beauty of the lower end, nor the Switzerland-type of scenery around Atlin. Rather it is a subtle beauty with modest mountains undulating into the distance and thick forests of spruce and willow interlaced by small streams and game trails. On a calm day the mountains and trees reflect themselves perfectly in the water and the color of the water turns the reflected sky into a deeper blue-green with the clouds standing out in bold relief.
One of the several side hikes available from the lake—perhaps the best—is up Racine River to Racine Lake. The river ends with a big noise as it tumbles down to form Racine Falls less than 200 feet (60 m) from the lake. A trail leads up from an old dock to a viewpoint directly in front of the falls with spray washing over you as you watch the different shapes the water takes in its tumble. The trail winds through beaver-thinned forests to the lake and across a flume dug there years ago for a power project that has been long abandoned. Other side hikes can be made on old trails to Fan Tail Lake and Tutshi Lake. These are not maintained and are grown over except where animals have kept them open.
This brings up the subject of bears. There are various opinions on the wisdom of carrying a high-powered rifle while traveling in grizzly and brown bear country. Some argue it is foolish to go unarmed into the northern wilderness; others argue the opposite. Many naturalists have never carried a firearm while traveling up there; they credit noise with keeping themselves out of trouble. They carry bells on their packs or something of that nature to be sure they do not surprise a bear.
The choice is for each individual to make, but it cannot be overemphasized that those carrying a rifle should know how to use it properly. An inexperienced marksman, or careless one, can cause more trouble than an unarmed hiker who heads for a tree. A wounded bear is an incredibly mean bear, and a companion accidentally shot—or a wounded lone traveler—is a prospect too grim to contemplate. The question of firearms is a problem to be resolved by each individual. The one exception to this rule is handguns. They are not permitted in Canada so leave your Dirty Harry sidearm home, locked in a cupboard.
As Taku Arm nears Tagish Lake, the mountains gradually flatten and become gray and barren. There is virtually no vegetation growing on them, and the forest runs to their bases and suddenly stops. These low, granite mountains are characteristic of the Tagish to Lake Laberge area, and no high mountains are seen again until the section of river below Laberge.