BhidePhotography: Tok, The Hermaphrodite Moose, and The Great Toilet Paper Scare

As our plane flew towards Beaver Creek, I thought about the difference between the Klondike gold rush in Skagway the way it was handled in Dawson. Skagway, which was then and still is part of America, was known for its bars, gunfights, graft, corruption, whorehouses, and general air of lawlessness. Soapy Smith pulled his scams with impunity until he was killed by vigilantes. At the Canadian border, everything changed. The first rule was -- No Handguns. Hunting rifles were allowed, but all sidearms were surrendered to or confiscated by the Canadian Mounties. Second, no one was allowed in without a year's worth of provisions (that famous 2000 pounds that required 20 or more trips up and down the steep Chilkoot Pass). Third, theft, for example of another miner's cache as he made the numerous trips up and down the Chilkoot, was immediately and harshly dealt with by the Mounties. At Lake Bennett, the Mounties found local people who could teach boat-building to the miners. By the time they reached Dawson, the miners were a fairly civilized and orderly group.

There are numerous churches in Dawson and the brothels, while allowed, were regulated. Bars were not open all night and were closed on Sundays. While Skagway is proud of its wild west ways, Dawson is equally proud of the civilized manner in which it dealt with and kept under control the sudden influx of 10,000 or more newcomers into town.

Flying along the Yukon River toward Beaver Creek, we could see why the Yukon is referred to as a 'braided' river. Its course changes constantly as glacial silt flows along and is deposited. The silt settles, building up the river bed until eventually it becomes like a narrow island and the river must change course to go around it.

Our flight took us south toward Beaver Creek. At first, we could see the pale strip of the Klondike Highway, but it soon gave out and we flew over miles and miles of wetlands.

Everything was 'hurry up and go' in Dawson, so it wasn't until we landed in Beaver Creek that we could wander around and see the plane that had just carried us there.

The above two shots pretty well sum up our experience of Beaver Creek. We were immediately whisked back on to our coach, which had been on the road all day long, traveling over double the distance we had just flown in order to get us back on schedule for our night's stay in Tok.

At first, we passed the time by searching through the windows for wildlife. We were rewarded by beaver dams (above) and moose on several occasions. Even a moose standing still is difficult to shoot from a bus moving along the bumpy Alaska Highway at 35 miles per hour, but I did manage to get one relatively clear shot of this cow, who only looked up from her underwater grazing long enough to make sure we were the usual sort of traffic.

(Note: This is not the hermaphrodite moose listed in the title.)

Not long after leaving Beaver Creek, we had a couple of brief stops at the United States/Canada border. One stop was to allow the customs officials to check our passports. The other stop was to look at the world from two countries simultaneously. The border is very well marked. In fact, you can see it for miles and miles, stretching out on either side of the road. With another hundred or so miles to go, we settled in to watch the world go by, little knowing that our creative tour guide, Juli, had something quite different in store for us.

Juli began handing out half sheets of white paper to everyone, along with a colored marker -- a different color for everyone in the coach. "We're going to play Moose Crossing," she announced, "In the lower right corner, write your name." We all looked a little skeptical but nobody wanted to disappoint Juli and, after all, what else was there to do?

Here's how the game is played. Juli would shout out a body part for us to draw. Just one part. Then we were to pass our sheet to the person in front and grab the drawing from the person behind and each time we passed the sheet, everyone would yell out "Moose Crossing!". It went on this way with Juli shouting out parts and us drawing, until we were about two thirds of the way through drawing our complete moose. Okay, now take a quick peek at the final results and you might see why suddenly the words we were calling out were changed to "Moose Abomination!" The drawings were getting more and more silly, especially as we followed the direction to 'give your moose a gender'. Some people chose one and some chose the other. Of course, this was well after we'd been told to add the antlers. . . . do you see where this is going? (Hint: males don't have udders and females don't have antlers.)

At the end, we all retrieved the sheet we had started with. But we weren't done. The next task was to study our moose -- deeply, thoroughly, becoming 'one with the moose'. "Now write a poem about your moose." My poem took a bit longer to write because I had one of those very, very special moose that seldom, if indeed ever, occur in nature . . . . .

Here's my moose and my poem (it did win first prize later on in the trip or I wouldn't be bothering you with it).

The poem goes like this:

The night was hot
And so was he
He sniffed the air
"Ah, yes! A she!"
He turned and turned
Round and round
That dagblamed cow
Nowhere to be found!
The moon came out
He looked around . . . .
Only to find . . . . that he
Was a she!

And so we rumbled on along the Alaska Highway, looking forward to whatever awaited us in Tok. Meanwhile, Greg, the driver, was carrying on a serious and low conversation over the two-way radio in the front of the bus. After a bit, Juli and he had a conference and Juli stood up quite seriously and said she had an announcement to make:

"You probably heard Greg talking on the radio a little while ago. He was talking with the hotel manager and they have a little bit of a problem. Tok is way out in the middle of nowhere and everything they get has to be trucked in. Now, they've got just about everything they need to make your stay comfortable and I know these folks go out of their way to entertain you, since there is absolutely nothing else to do in Tok. So, first of all I want to tell you that they've extended their annual Christmas in July celebration to August, just for your benefit. On the downside though, they have run out of one item. The truck that was to bring in the toilet paper hasn't arrived. They expect it some time during the night. But right now, they've asked us to pass out whatever is left on the bus and have you each take what you think will be sufficient for your needs this evening."

The usually ebullient Juli was clearly dead serious so we dutifully passed the roll around and then sat there each contemplating his or her small wad of the precious commodity. When we got into Tok, the manager came on board and also apprised us of the situation. He encouraged us to each take a sheet or two from the roll of paper towels he was holding. So, we did.

Greg, with the last of the supply from the bus.

We got up to our rooms and pretty much all went through the same process. First, you pulled your luggage inside and then you stood there wondering just how long you could 'hold it'. In my case, I happened to look over at the sink vanity area and noticed a box of facial tissues and thought, "well this isn't really so bad. . . " Then, on a hunch, I went into the little room where the toilet paper was and -- two full rolls! I think we all made our discovery simultaneously because all around the central hotel courtyard I suddenly heard a lot of whooping and laughing! We'd been had.

In the end, it was Juli who paid the price for her prank. She got into her own room and -- no toilet paper -- anywhere! It wasn't until she went to bed that she discovered two rolls under the pillows. Turns out someone at Tok has a sense of humor, too.

As we had been warned, there was very little to see or do in Tok. However, they tried hard to make it up to us. . . . the food was amazing and the decorations very, well, very seasonal. . . .