Here is the first in what I intend to be a series of posts about my recent 5 month stint working as a tour guide out of Skagway Alaska. I thought I’d be blogging that entire time, yet found myself so immersed and consumed in the venture that I was left with little time or energy for reflection. So now that I’m back home in New Mexico…
Where to begin this? I For me it’s not as simple as following the Kings Advice to Alice of Wonderland “Begin at the beginning, “and go on till you come to the end: then stop.”
I’ve chosen to begin at an ending. In late August 1971 I dipped my kayak paddle into the Yukon River for a final few strokes and glided into the Bering Sea, having first dipped into the Yukon 2000 miles upstream in the river’s headwater Lake Bennett. After a journey of 80 days, and a bush plane ride into a disorienting and kaleidoscopic reentry into the evening madness of the city of Anchorage, I remember saying to myself… “I’m off the river, but this journey will never end.”
44 years later (blink!) in April I found myself back in Skagway where the big adventure of my youth began. Though “you can’t step in the same river twice,” my youthful conclusion that there would be no conclusion has proven the test of time. The journey is of whole cloth and it continues.
Here’s the current short story. Hitchhiking on my familiarity with Skagway from years ago, my Yukon adventure, and my experience relating to people from around the world all these years as a storyteller, in a somewhat cavalier manner I tossed off an email inquiry about possible employment as a guide. The next day the phone rang and I received more than a job offer. It was a full blown sales pitch, an entreaty, a chapter and verse proposition complete with starting and ending dates salary etc. “ Who are you talking to? “ my wife Liz asked, well aware of my suddnen mixture of bafflement and excitement. And so it began. A sudden and mostly unexpected, unplanned journey, a long absence from home, from my soulmate and partner and from the work that has sustained me for many years. I would be doing storytelling, but of a very different kind.
I’m sure I’ll be circling back to many details, encounters, and connections, episodes, but at this point I ought to provide at least a little more context.
In July of 1897 a ship docked in San Fransisco with a motley bunch of prospectors carrying with them a ton of gold, plucked from the Klondike in the Yukon territory. These grizzled sourdoughs could barely carry off their heavy sacks and totes of the precious metal.The reporters having got wind of their arrival were there to meet the boat. The next day you couldn’t get a trolley car in the city. The conductors had quit their jobs and were outfitting for the Klondike. The rush was on. Over the next months, tens of thousands of others from around the world would trek north,
arriving in either Skagway or the nearby townsite of Dyea, at the foot of what would become the fabled Chilkoot Trail.
Here in the words of Pierre Berton, author of The Klondike Fever, is what awaited them.
“… haul a ton of goods up the Dyea Trail and over the Chilkoot Pass(or White Pass out of Skagway) in the dead of winter, to construct a serviceable boat of green lumber whipsawed by hand on the shores of Lake Bennett, to tempt the swift river and it’s rapids (of the Yukon River)for more than five hundred miles, and on arrival… to build a log cabin capable of withstanding temperatures of sixty below zero.” Then of course the back breaking work of mining lay before them.
My job as a guide was two-fold… meet cruise ship passengers 6 days a weeks early in the morning, drive them through town to the White Pass Summit and a little beyond, interpreting Gold Rush history along the way. Then return to town, quickly meet another group for a second tour over the pass, and further into the Yukon Territory, to Lake Bennett and slightly beyond in a 6 hour route that incorporated both history, natural history and simple breathtakingly beautiful opportunities to see the country, take photos, and for many to fulfill a dream of making it to Alaska. I guided roughly 250 tours and probably had somewhere between 3500 and 4000 people along as my guests.
Details will be forthcoming. But for now, here’s a question. The question that many of my friends have been asking me.
Was it worth it?!
Before I left for Alaska I went to a coin shop and purchased an 1898 silver dollar. I paid $35 dollars for it. But how much is it worth? The dealer told me that given the silver it contained, and given commodity fluctuation it was ‘worth’ $14 and the balance of the purchase price was for ‘value’ as a collectible. Is there a difference between worth and value? That’s something worthy of reflection I think. I’ll attest to it’s collectible value, because almost every day, I passed that dollar around so that people could have a tangible, palpable connection to 1898. “Maybe this very dollar circulated here in Skagway in 1898.” I’d say. “You could buy one egg, 1/50th of a cantaloupe(no kidding) or a quick date with Ethel the Moose or Molly Few Clothes. Thousands of people on my tours had their hands on that dollar and I always got it back even when I was distracted and had forgotten that I’d passed it out. My faith in humanity was always affirmed. What’s the value of that?!
Everyday I’d drive buy a local store that was selling a mounted mastodon tusk for somewhere near $100,000. On my Yukon trip, I’d drifted past a place called the Boneyard, and seen tusks sticking out of the river bank. (During the last Ice Age, the Yukon Valley was curiously ice free and there the mastodons roamed) A few bends further down the river I passed an encampment where several guys were cleaning a huge huge tusk, that they’d excavated. I suppose we could have cut short our trip and become a tusk trader (it was still legal then). We hadn’t started with this certitude of intention, but reaching the Bering Sea and as we put it, ‘going all the way,’ had become a commitment I’d made to myself and my three companions. So we passed up an opportunity to ‘get rich.’ Now on my tours, I could tell the story of the tusks, and could attest as a first hand witness to one of the many great changes the land underwent over the eons. I can evoke and share an almost bodily sense of the passage of time. How much is that worth? Or better yet… what the value there?
So this time I spent in Alaska this year. Was it worth it?
For some the question comes down to simple arithmetic. Did I make money? How much? For the moment, the answer to that simple question is… enough.
As I’d pull into town and the conclusion of each tour, I’d usually say to my guests, “ The best things in life aren’t things, they’re experiences and I hope you’ve had a great experience today,” (In the spirit full disclosure, yes, I was simultaneously thinking about what the tips might be that day!)
So now, arithmetic aside, the question becomes, what is the value of the experience I’ve returned home with? And in keeping with, ‘the trip will never end’ I have to remind myself that some of the value of my experience may not reveal itself for years to come. (Maybe that silver dollar will be “worth” much more by then!) But kidding aside, here for starters are a few things I’m carrying back in my prospectors poke.
I made it all the way! I didn’t turn back. I kept a commitment to myself, to my colleagues, and to my employer even though as I may later attest I had little respect for the way he did business with his clients and staff. When I say, I almost turned back, that I could barely picture myself getting beyond the first couple of weeks, that is no exaggeration. I didn’t know if I could or wanted to hack it. I had prepared mightily for this assignment. I wanted to be the best tour guide I could possibly be… for my clients, and for my own sense of accomplishment and mastery. Little did I suspect that boning up on Gold Rush and natural history was not the most challenging part of the job.
Here’s an insiders perspective. Start at the dock and get back to the dock before the ship sails. Failure to do so is the ultimate business catastrophe for reasons that can be imagined. Along the way, adjust for number of people on board, what kind of shoes are they wearing when deciding where and when to stop, estimate how long will it take to get on and off at stops, how many people will need to use the few and far between stinky outhouses on the route, how long will it take to get through both U.S. and Canadian customs on any given day, and weather the dog mushing begin and end on time. Allow for the possibility of getting stuck behind an incomprehensibly slow moving ore or fuel truck. Wonder if will the fog be so thick I’ll have to drive at 5mph? What about road construction delays? Meanwhile, the boss is telling clients we’ll be making stops every 15 minutes…which was not always possible… the boss is aslo telling people the weather will be better on the other side of the mountains… not always true… that there will be thrilling bear encounters… sometimes but not usually true. I was a nervous wreck at night, barely sleeping, but managed to keep my game face moving down the road. During those first weeks and as I moved into the second month I was not having much fun. Could I hack it? Would I make it?
And then on a rare day off, I went to Mecca. I drove 120 miles to Whitehorse in the Yukon Territory and made a pilgrimage to the River…to Miles Canyon, which had been one of the stretches of deadly rapids that the Klondikers had to navigate. It had been tamed by the one dam on the river by the time I floated by, but this was the first time in 44 years that I’d set eyes on and dipped toes into the river. I was in tears, for so many reasons. Tears of joy, tears of regrets, thoughts of time and opportunities lost, but perhaps more than anything else, came an epiphany… I had been by this place all those years ago… at the beginning of a different long odyssey that I didn’t know if I’d complete, and here I was again, the same person… that optimistic and naive kid was and still is the same person… older and maybe a bit wiser. I was both at the same time! … a time traveler if there ever was one… a gift message from the the river and the great cycles of life. I HAD made it all the way, and at that moment, I committed to completing my contract no matter what. I’d pull up at the dock on September 9th, let off that last guest, and it would feel like taking those last strokes and gliding into the Bering Sea. What would that be worth? What value?
I’m going to leave off here for now. I learned once again the personal value of completing something difficult. It’s often extremely difficult at times for me to write. But now that I’ve once again dipped my paddle into the blog current I intend to keep going. I hope some of you will travel with me and find what value you can!
As always, your encouragement keeps me going. And as always, I hope for your thoughts and stories here in the comment section. What for instance, do you think about a distinction between worth and value?
I’ll defer to Albert Einstein for the last word.
“ Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted.”
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