Paddling The Yukon – A River Trip Through History

By Donna Griffin-Smith

In the summer of 1996, the Yukon Territory began three years of celebrations to mark the centennial of the Klondike gold rush. My husband Don and I decided to follow the trail of ’98, by hiking the Chilkoot Trail and paddling the Yukon River from Bennett Lake to Dawson City. Our 22 day journey covered a distance of over 900 kilometres. We paddled in our ocean kayaks and found they “took like ducks” to river travel. As with most adventures of this kind, no amount of pre-trip preparation, whether it be physical conditioning, historical research or just plain old romantic notions, could quite prepare us for the experience we had.

We began by hiking the Chilkoot Trail: 53 kilometres, 3800 feet above sea level and five days from Skagway, in Alaska, to Bennett Lake in the Yukon. At the summit of the Chilkoot Pass we hiked over snow fields that melt to form Crater Lake, the headwaters of the Yukon River, and for two days followed the rushing mountain stream and alpine lakes to Bennett Lake – where our kayaks were waiting for us. We had arranged for a water taxi service to deliver our paddling gear to the end of the trail as there is no road access and the White Pass and Yukon Railway discontinued train service to Bennett last year.

Bennett commands a fantastic view of the lake. The afternoon of our arrival – its turquoise water mirrored perfect reflections of the towering mountains on each side. A hundred years ago this was a tent city of 10,000 gold seekers; today it is a ghost town. The railway station is boarded up and beyond the station lie a number of abandoned trailers, cabins and railway cars. A log church built in 1898 still stands, but has been propped up by an inner framework of beams to save it from collapse. Just below the church a native family was building a new log cabin. Along the trail and throughout the former townsite lie the rusting remains of old tin cans and pieces of equipment and a million fragments of broken glass. I guess the Klondikers had never heard of recycling or no trace camping.

For the next three days we paddled three long narrow lakes, Bennett Lake, Tagish Lake and Marsh Lake, before reaching the Yukon River. In the spring of 1898, as soon as the ice went out, thousands of gold seekers made their way down these lakes in small hand built craft and the rush to Dawson was on.

These lakes are well known for their strong funnelling winds due to the surrounding mountains. On Bennett, the wind literally blew us down the lake. The one metre waves were a challenge and my left arm and shoulders ached from the unaccustomed exercise of paddling and bracing. We saw no one on the lake but passed a group of hikers and their dog Klondike, who were walking the abandoned railway line that follows the eastern shore. (We had met the dog earlier scrambling up the Chilkoot Pass.) At Carcross, a historic community at the intersection of the lakes and the highway to Skagway, we rewarded ourselves with a cold Dr. Pepper and salty chips, a luxury after six days of freeze-dried food.

The next day was hot and sunny, and Tagish Lake was calm – not even a ripple. By the time we reached the north eastern arm there was a nice breeze but not enough to speed up our trip. We camped on a sandy beach where the lake enters the Tagish River, an area with quite a few cottages and Sunday boat traffic – quite crowded by Yukon standards. That evening an older woman and her dog walked by our camp and we shared stories. Sybil told us she had paddled to Dawson several times by canoe in her younger days and asked us to deliver a message to a friend of hers who lives on the river at Stewart Island.

The next morning we stopped about four miles down river at Tagish Bridge to visit the store. We needed an onion, which the store keeper had to borrow from her neighbour in order to sell to us, and somehow came away with ice cream cones and cold juice too. Her husband told us that Marsh Lake was 27 miles long (about 40 kilometres), but we didn’t make it to the end. We enjoyed fine weather and a strong tail wind for most of the day and made camp in late afternoon on a narrow gravel beach, about an hour’s paddle from the Yukon River. The beautiful sandy beach where we stopped for lunch would have been a perfect campsite, but it was too early in the day.

As we were preparing supper, a family of baby sandpipers came along the shoreline. They have little downy tufts instead of tails which they continually bob up and down. Two scurried past at the water’s edge, peeping loudly; the other two got waylaid behind our tent and became separated.

Once we entered the river we immediately noticed the effects of the current and soon reached a control dam at the Alaska Highway bridge. We were told you could take a boat through the dam, but the water was very fast and the drop was about a foot or more, so we decided to take the kayaks through the hand operated lock beside the dam. Beyond the dam the river twists and turns between high sandy banks and the current was quite fast.

By late afternoon we reached Miles Canyon, a narrow stretch of fast flowing water between reddish basalt walls. During the gold rush this marked the beginning of the Whitehorse Rapids, the most treacherous part of the river journey to Dawson. However, the rapids have been drowned by a power dam at Whitehorse and the canyon is an easy ride. A century ago tramways were constructed on either side of the canyon to transport miners’ goods around the rapids, but at the dam we called a taxi to take us to our campsite at a nearby trailer park. We planned to portage our kayaks by truck.

At Whitehorse we took a day of R and R, that is resupply and repack, before continuing on. The next leg of our journey, to Carmacks, took seven days. We launched the kayaks in downtown Whitehorse at about 11:30 am, a few kilometres below the dam and thanks to the swift current paddled about 42 kilometres and reached Lake Laberge by late afternoon. Lake Laberge is famous as the last resting place of Robert Service’s fictional character Sam Magee, but it is also notorious for its strong winds and paddlers are warned to get off the lake if whitecaps appear.

We found a perfect campsite on a gravel beach near the abandoned Indian village of Upper Laberge. Someone had put up a marker of sticks that we spotted from the water; otherwise we probably would have missed it. A light southwest wind blew on the lake and ahead lay 47 kilometres of lake travel.

The next morning was cool and cloudy and a brisk tailwind helped us along. We followed the eastern shoreline which was steep and rocky, but also had many good beaches and campsites, most not occupied but probably used by modern day Yukoners as hunting or fishing camps. About 5:30 that afternoon we found a good site and set up the tarp over the “kitchen” as it looked like rain. We saw several other parties of canoeists on the lake and one lone kayaker. A German couple, Norbert and Kersten, were camped just around the point from us.

That night a severe wind and rain storm woke us up and my active imagination feared for the safety of our kayaks on the beach. Don got up to check and they were fine. However, the next morning a strong gusty wind from the North whipped the lake into whitecaps. We were windbound “on the marge of Lake Laberge.”

The following morning we were on the water at dawn in an attempt to beat the wind, but two hours later we were windbound again. Paddling was extremely bumpy, especially at the rocky promontories. We spent the entire day sitting on our little stretch of cobble beach and finished our novels which were supposed to last the whole trip. Later, a lone kayaker hiked overland from his windbound campsite further along the shore for a visit. Finally about 6:00 pm, as we were preparing supper, the wind dropped and the whitecaps were gone. We hastily packed up and started to paddle. By 8:30 pm we were off the lake and made camp at Lower Laberge.

This location was once an important riverboat landing and had a Northwest Mounted Police post, telegraph office, store, woodcamp and roadhouse. There are still many relics from the past including old cabins and machinery and a derelict Chevrolet truck that had been brought across the ice in the 1950’s for hauling wood. The hull of a wrecked riverboat, the Casca I, lies buried in sand by the river’s edge. Modern conveniences for river travellers today are picnic shelters, tables and outhouses. We shared these with another German couple, Mateus and Annette, who were also going to Dawson by canoe.

The section of the river between Lake Laberge and the Teslin River is known as the Thirty Mile and is designated a Canadian Heritage River. The current is fast, with many sharp bends and riffles, and in the days of the river steamers, there were many wrecks on the shallow bars and rapids. Names on the map like US Bend, Casca Riff, and 17 Mile Woodyard conjured images of the past. The river flows about four to five kilometres per hour so even when we rafted up to drift, we were moving right along.

By mid afternoon we reached Hootalinqua, where the Teslin River joins the Yukon and nearly doubles its size. We stopped at Shipyard Island to see the remains of an old river steamer, the Evelyn, which was pulled up onto the ways for winter storage some time in the 1930’s and never sailed again. She was very decrepit and not safe to enter. When we arrived we could smell smoke, and upon investigation, discovered a smoldering fire in the dry rotting wood under the back end of the old ship. Using our one litre drinking bottles and bailing jugs, we made many trips carrying water up from the river to try and put out the fire. The closest place to report it was about three days away. Hopefully we saved it, as it is one of only a few surviving riverboats in the Yukon.

At Big Salmon, a former native settlement, we were reminded that the history of the Yukon did not begin with the gold rush. Further downstream at Little Salmon a native graveyard is all that remains of a once large village. Each grave is surrounded by a brightly painted fence and has a small spirit house containing articles such as dishes or personal belongings of the deceased. Today, some native people continue to occupy traditional summer fish camps on the river.

Along the river we passed many old cabins and woodyards where they used to cut firewood for the steamboats and these make good campsites. One day we kept pace with another kayaker, Bubba from Palm Springs, and he joined us at one of these woodyards. Here, a small cabin sported two large fir trees growing on its sod roof. It was surprising that it had not caved in. The next morning we woke up to pouring rain so stayed in our warm, dry tent until almost noon. With plans to make a nice hot breakfast, we got up and hauled food and cooking stuff up the bank to the old cabin – only to discover our stove would not work. Bubba loaned us his to brew our coffee and the rest was granola. Later, the rain stopped so we packed up and started paddling. Although we didn’t discuss it much, we were both pretty discouraged and silently considered our options with no stove. Should we take the chance of finding dry firewood for the rest of the trip, buy a new stove at Carmacks, or quit?

We finally reached the town of Carmacks about 8:30 pm and set up our soggy tent at the local campground – next to the river and the Klondike Highway. There were many other river travellers camped here, some of whom we now recognized as familiar faces, and we exchanged stories of our days on the river.

Our next priority was to get clean. We learned the showers at the laundromat were not working but were directed to the Sunset Motel where for $3.50 you could rent room number nine for an hour (to use the shower, of course). Thank goodness for the long Arctic daylight. At midnight we were cooking up soup in the picnic shelter which we shared with eighteen British teenagers who were drying out tons of wet gear around the blazing woodstove. These friendly young people were also canoeing to Dawson. We decided to sleep on whether or not to purchase a new stove.

The next morning we bid farewell to civilization after shopping for a few extra food items at the store. The next community would be Dawson, six days down river. Our stove problem had resolved itself. In the morning, it worked just fine and we never did determine what was wrong.

Highlights along this section of the river included the only two rapids between Whitehorse and Dawson. At Five Finger Rapids large basalt columns divide the river into five channels of fast water. Only the right hand one was considered safe for the steamboats which had to be winched upstream. We wondered how our ocean kayaks would respond in the rapids, but they slipped through the V and the small standing waves below as if they were made for it. Rink Rapids we avoided completely by keeping to the right hand bank. Just below Rink we passed what is known as Sam Magee’s Ashes. The high sandy river bank contains a large exposed pocket of white ash from a volcanic eruption that occurred about 2,000 years ago, and reminded me of a blob of whipped cream in a doughnut.

Further on we passed through Hell’s Gate. The name suggests something dangerous but it was simply an area of many islands and sandbars which had been hazardous for the riverboats. Relics of a log structure built to divert the current could be seen along one bank. We too discovered it was really easy to run aground if we wandered from the main channel, as the water was so silty that you could not see bottom, even in a few inches of water.

Where the Pelly River flows into the Yukon from the east, is Fort Selkirk. First established by the Hudson’s Bay Company in 1848, during the gold rush it was the headquarters for the Yukon Field Force which helped maintain law and order. Strategically located on the river and the old Dawson stage road, this was a thriving community until the 1950’s when a new highway was built on the other side of the river and the riverboats stopped running. Today, the government is in the process of restoring it as a heritage site, and we enjoyed exploring the old buildings and looking for familiar brand names on old boxes and tins. The visitors’ book contained names of river travellers from all over the world, but we were surprised at the large number of German tourists.

Wildlife along the river was usually seen early in the day and we spotted a caribou, several moose and a wolf. Fortunately the smaller critters (biting insects) were not too abundant. We saw several black bears, but no grizzlies, although they also inhabit this area. It seemed that there was abundant food for bears on the alder and willow covered islands, which also happened to be the only place to camp along this section of the river. For that reason we decided to camp with two other couples whom we met along the river. We hoped that a larger group would discourage any curious or hungry members of that species. One evening our campsite was up on a high bank overlooking some small islands. After supper we were sitting around the fire when we heard splashing in the water below. On the island opposite us was a bear, running as fast as it could along the bank before disappearing into the bushes on the next island. I guess it was surprised to find us there, but I felt a little safer knowing we were six.

During the day each couple separated to paddle at their own pace and explore whichever channels or shorelines they chose. The river here had many islands and in some places the banks were low, swampy and spruce covered, in others – there were high rocky cliffs and cutbanks. It was fascinating to study the current which was constantly eroding away the river banks and building up new gravel bars and islands. Each day we averaged about 70 kilometres, due to the current, and one day we paddled a record 83 kilometres.

Each night we met to camp with our German friends, Annette and Mateus, Norbert and Kersten. It was interesting to be in the position of not understanding the conversation, as they often spoke German among themselves, but certain words like bears (which Norbert pronounced "beers"), beer and pizza (which we all equated with our arrival in Dawson) were ideas we all understood.

Two days from Dawson we passed the White River which flows into the Yukon from the Kluane region to the southwest. Here, the river changed colour due to the large amount of glacial silt and the current noticeably picked up speed. At Stewart Island we stopped to deliver a "Hello" to a friend of a friend Yvonne Burian, who has lived at this historic spot on the river most of her life. Sadly, she did not know how much longer she could remain here, as the river was tearing away the bank under her house and, although her family blocked up the house and moved it back this summer, the river was winning. In fact, for many kilometres downstream it looked like the scene of a flash flood, with uprooted trees and washed out banks everywhere. A good campsite was hard to find but we got lots of practice ferrying across the strong current as we checked out many possible sites before finally choosing a spot on a low gravel island. Of course we checked carefully for signs of bear.

At Ogilvie Island we explored the remains of an old farm. A roofless cabin, a small log barn full of old horse harnesses and numerous pieces of rusted equipment that lay amongst the rapidly growing poplars. Beyond the farm we found a large circular clearing and about 30 barrels of helicopter fuel. We had become accustomed to thinking of the Yukon River in terms of its past and it was surprising to stumble upon its present. Upriver we had passed a pickup truck and bulldozer on the riverbank and met a barge that carries supplied to those who live and work on the river. Although the rush is over – many old claims along the river are being reworked with modern equipment.

Near Ogilvie Island we passed a log raft with a canvas shelter and barbeque on deck, as well as a rubber raft lashed alongside. It was stuck on a gravel bar and its occupants were attempting to dig it out. Earlier, we passed another log raft flying Canadian and Austrian flags. They were using two long oars to manoeuvre the raft away from the bank. Drifting with the current is a leisurely way to travel, but you must be sure to stay in the main channel. We concluded there must be some sort of raft competition in honour of the gold rush centennial.

Our final night on the river we camped on a flat sand and gravel island. A large log tripod that someone had erected for a shelter caught our eye and our friends joined us not long after. In the morning we awoke to the sound of rain on the tent and got up about 8:30 am when it stopped. Our sandy campsite was now a mucky mess and silt had attached itself to every piece of equipment. We managed to get packed up and on the water without rain, but soon after it poured heavily. We paddled into Dawson around 1:30 pm – looking like two drowned rats. Although the weather was improving – we decided to book into The Midnight Sun rather than face camping in our slimy wet tent.

After making arrangements to ship our kayaks back to Whitehorse by truck, we set out to explore the modern city of Dawson and track down that beer and pizza we had been dreaming of for days. Dawson is a strange mixture of old and new, but her streets are not paved with gold – or asphalt. Tourism seems to be the main industry and its numerous restaurants, shops and hotels try to duplicate the style of the early days. Many century old buildings still remain and restoration continues to be a mandate for the community.

In his book about the gold rush, Pierre Berton suggests that for many Klondikers it was the adventure, rather than the gold itself that brought them to the Yukon. After 22 days of wilderness travel we too realized that it was the journey, not the destination, that was our reason for going there. The scenery, the river and the wildlife were superb, but most of all it was the people we met along the way that made this trip memorable.

Donna Griffin-Smith is a well travelled paddler living in Blackstock, Ontario.

Trip Planner

Skill Level: There is no difficult white water on the Yukon, but a basic knowledge of paddling and steering a canoe or kayak is recommended, as fast currents and large lakes will be encountered.

Access Points: The highways of the Yukon Territory cross the Yukon River at many points so put in and take out is possible at many locations, and trips of various lengths can be planned. It took us 17 days to paddle from Bennet to Dawson. If you start at Whitehorse it takes about 12 days.

The following are possible road access points to the Yukon River: Carcross, Tagish, Alaska Highway Bridge (east to Whitehorse), Whitehorse, Takhini River Bridge, Carmacks, Minto and Dawson.

Outfitters: There are several outfitters in Whitehorse that can provide canoes or kayaks and camping gear, as well as drop off and pick up at access points including, The Kanoe People (867) 668-4899.

Guided Trips: For a guided trip on the Yukon River contact Canada’s Canoe Adventures Box 398, Merrickville, Ontario K0G 1N0 Tel: (613) 269-2910 Fax: (613) 269-2908. A 13 day trip departs on July 3, 1998 from Whitehorse – $2,495 + 7% GST. A detailed trip description is available.

Maps and Guides: In addition to topographic maps, many good guidebooks are available, some of which are listed in KANAWA’s mail order (pg. 34). We used a river guide by Mike Rourke called Yukon River. Rivers of The Yukon – A Paddlers Guide by Ken Madsen is also an excellent guide book ($19.95 + 7% GST and $2.50 p/h. Overseas orders add $8 Air Mail) and is available from the Canadian Recreational Canoeing Association (613) 269-2910 Fax: (613) 269-2908.

Additional Reading: Pierre Berton’s Drifting Home, a personal account of a rafting trip he made with his family down the Yukon River from Bennet to Dawson inspired us to make the trip ourselves (available from the CRCA for $12.95 + 7% GST and $2.50 p/h. Overseas orders add $8 Air Mail).

This story is from Kanawa Magazine.