BhidePhotography: On the Road to Dawson

Thank goodness for comfortable coaches! Alaska and The Yukon Territory are vast lands with miles and miles of wildlands on either side of narrow roads. Our coach stopped every couple of hours, though, so that people didn't become cranky and uncomfortable. The Klondike Highway between Whitehorse and Dawson was one such long road (about 250 miles), punctuated by odd little stops along the way -- places where people keep themselves in business by the simple act of having something, interesting, useful, or necessary for the wanderer.

We left Whitehorse fairly early in the morning. A couple of hours later found us at a place called Braeburn Lodge, most well known, as it turns out, for their enormous cinnamon buns.

Braeburn Lodge

These cinnamon buns look just like any other cinnamon buns, don't they? Well, in addition to their absolute scrumptiousness, they are also about a foot in diameter! One cinnamon bun was enough to give everyone on the coach a taste.

Of course, while everyone else was buying and eating the sticky cinnamon bun, I wandered around a bit. Braeburn Lodge struck me as being one of those quintessential northern, open-country sorts of places. The main industry seemed to be us -- or that is, us and coachloads of folks like us -- as well as people traveling along the Yukon Highway who simply needed a place to get out and stretch a bit. There was an old piano sitting on a moving dolly, a yard full of rusting vehicles, and a stack of what looked to be old telephone poles that had been sawed into even lengths,

And that was Braeburn. We continued on to our lunch stop -- Carmacks Inn. Carmacks is actually on the maps. It's a cluster of buildings around a bend in the river. The name probably should have been simply Carmack, without the 's', after George Carmack who, along with Tagish Charley and Skookum Jim, found gold in their pan on Rabbit Creek (later renamed Bonanza Creek) on August 17, 1896. However, when a painter was asked to paint up a sign for the town, the 's' was added in error and the name has been Carmacks ever since.

Perhaps this is a good time to insert a little bit about the original strike that led to the Klondike Gold Rush. There are several versions of the discovery of gold, some more credible than others. One of the more believable involves a long-time prospector in the area by the name of Robert Henderson, who had found a bit of gold on Gold Bottom Creek, not far from Rabbit Creek. As was the custom, since any single person could only stake out just so much land as his or her claim (yes, women did stake claims), it was to their advantage to let others know about the strike. The additional miners often lent each other support. So Robert Henderson told George Carmack about his find.

To the pile of tales, I'm going to add my own. The 'official' version of George Carmack's discovery has him wandering down to Rabbit Creek with a bunch of dirty pots and pans to wash them. George was actually married to an Indian woman by the name of Kate. Tagish Charley and Skookum Jim were her relatives. I tried hard to imagine ol' George gathering up all the dirty cookware to do up the dishes and, well, it just didn't fly. Think about it. Who would have been doing the dishes? Certainly not George, Charley, or Jim. What were women for, if not to do up the laundry, wash the dishes, and along the way birth a baby or ten? So, in my version, the gold of Rabbit Creek, aka Bonanza Creek, is actually discovered by Kate. Spread the word. We can correct history. . . .

We had lunch and then wandered down the board path to enjoy the river.

After Carmack's, our next stop was a little place called Moose Creek Lodge. Moose Creek Lodge is somewhat loosely named, as I didn't see any signs of actual lodgings (or any moose, for that matter). But it was a kind of fun little place, the purpose of which was again to feed and refresh weary travelers. It had the added bonus of being quite entertaining, as well. There were old cabins fitted out with rusting bits and pieces to replicate Klondiker digs, a horseshoe pit, an ice cream shack, and lots of whimsical sculptures made of scraps of found materials fitted together to form recognizable forms. My favorite was the gigantic mosquito, aka the Alaska State Bird. The only drawback to exploring and enjoying Moose Creek Lodge was the guard turkey. Apparently, we were passing through during an avian mating season. The lone tom turkey wandered through, chasing his hens and warning off anyone, including humans, who might impede his progress in the mating game. Very few of us wandered back beyond the ice cream shack. I think I may have gone the farthest afield, but even I was daunted by the prospect of a sharp, angry beak on a three foot tall, testosterone-fueled fowl!

So here is probably about one half of Moose Creek Lodge. . . .