Would you like a bit of Whitehorse? On the shores of the upper Yukon, 1700 miles from the Bering Sea this here’s another gold rush town that made it intact into the 21st Century. The pristine white sternwheeler sits there on the bank, never to plow the river churning that huge paddle wheel again. The follies play to a crowd of tourists in gold miners’ seats. An attractive visitors center aches to engage weary tourists in the fetching ways of the town. Music plays in the parks, cake is served on Canada Day. Museums feature the fossil past, the flood of miners flowing up the Chilcoot Trail from Skagway, the trains and transportation and the artifacts of yesteryear. Guides walk the city in costumes from 19th century and explain the Whitehorse that was and the Whitehorse that is.


There is an eager lass handing out invitations to free interpretive hikes into the wilds beginning at the edge of town. For the less venturesome, handsome paved trails promenade the waterfront. A cute little trolley car whisks people along the front street. Whitehorse is thriving when the dust through many a gold rush camp would be hard put to shiver up a ghost of the golden past. Today’s gold comes from my pocket, the tourist, eager to soak up the far north experience.



The cabin belonging to Sam Magee from Robert Service's poem: The Cremation of Sam Magee