Adventures in Dawson City, Yukon

I find myself in the oddest places—and I love every minute of it.

I am sitting in a hotel room in what is probably the most remote place I've ever been—Dawson City, Yukon Territory, in northwestern Canada. I am 5,000 kilometres from home, surrounded mostly by wilderness.

This tiny, dusty village was the final destination for miners stampeding into the Klondike during the gold rush of 1898. In less than two years, Dawson's population went from 500 to 30,000, placing it among Canada's biggest cities at the time. The rush ended and most people left, but the village at the confluence of the Yukon and Klondike rivers remained, many parts of it frozen in time.

One hundred twenty-five years later, there are still sagging buildings and derelict metal implements embedded in the hillside above town. There are packed dirt streets and wooden board sidewalks. There are boarded up saloons and trading companies. But there are also strong gold mining and tourism industries, and so stores have been renovated, restaurants are busy, and bars are packed with visitors—so many that I heard Dawson City referred to as "Vegas of the North."

Red-suited bouncers at Diamond Tooth Gertie's Gambling Hall stood guard over the velvet cord at the front door as guests lined up to gamble last night and watch the can-can dancers do their century-old show. Needless to say, I was not part of that crowd, though I did pop into Jack London's Bar to sample the infamous Sourtoe Cocktail—a reputed mummified human toe served in a shot of Yukon Jack. The ancient captain administered the ceremony to me, waving the toe before my eyes and chanting, "You can drink it fast / You can drink it slow / But your lips must touch this gnarly toe." I did it. It wasn't so bad.

I am traveling around the Yukon for nearly two weeks with my 11-year-old son in tow. We flew to Whitehorse for my sister's spontaneous wedding this past weekend. Tickets to Whitehorse are the most expensive I've ever purchased (let's just say it would've been cheaper to go to Australia), so I figured I should see what I can while I'm here. And now, to complicate matters, I'm totally in love with the North and already want to come back.

Mid-week, my son and I drove six hours north from Whitehorse to Dawson, up the Klondike Highway. Some of it was dirt, and we only saw two gas stations. We had spare tires in the trunk, a good supply of snacks, some sleeping bags and a tent. We made it just fine, spotting a grizzly and a black bear along the way.

In Dawson City, we spent a day exploring the town, doing a guided historic walking tour, then driving out to Bonanza Creek, where George Carmack's discovery of gold kicked off the entire gold rush. We tried panning for gold with pans loaned to us by the Parks Canada Visitor's Centre. We were successful, finding a bunch of small flakes, but it wasn't the mother lode that my son had anticipated. (We weren't able to pay off our plane tickets, in case you're wondering.)

We visited Dredge No. 4, a National Historic Site which displays the massive eight-storey wooden-hulled machine that was used to churn through creeks and find gold.

We hiked to the top of Midnight Dome, which provides a spectacular 360-degree view of the town, rivers, and area. The hike was beautiful, but challenging. We should've brought more water and been mentally prepared for the verticalness of the climb.

But our efforts were rewarded by surprisingly superb food, the likes of which I didn't expect to find in such a remote place. From croissants and lattes at the Red Mammoth Bistro, to breakfast burritos and cheese danishes at Riverwest, to an incredible meal of cajun-seasoned Arctic char at the Aurora Inn, we have eaten very well.

The best hiking, however, was during our day trip to Tombstone Territorial Park. Just 1.5 hours from Dawson, this park took us both by surprise with its jagged mountain peaks, snowy ranges, and—if you drive far enough—the vast Arctic tundra. Every corner we took along the dirt-packed Dempster Highway caused us to gasp in amazement; just when I thought the views couldn't get better, they did. We hiked the Grizzly Lake Trail to the first lookout, which gave a fabulous view of the famous Mount Monolith, and then did part of the Goldensides trail, which offers a view of the entire Tombstone valley.

We went to the tundra, too, and walked around its spongy base. My son lay down and rolled with glee, said he could sleep on it. (No way, I thought, due to roaming grizzlies.) My son and I counted eight cars on the 100 kilometres that we drove into the park, not exactly busy. When we stopped for a picnic lunch at the interpretive centre, I chatted with a guy who was wrapping up a 7-week trip to the Arctic Ocean, living out of his van. He seemed eager for human interaction. I wasn't surprised.

First impressions of the Yukon that I'll take away include:

- The lack of road signs, road markers, guard rails. Sometimes there's a centre line painted, but nothing else. If you slide off the road, there's nothing to stop you. If you turn onto the wrong road, you'll never know. There's no cell service either, so you can't check Google. The upside is that there are minimal options, so maybe it's not an issue. When I asked my sister for a map, she laughed and said, "There's only one road to Dawson City."

- The Midnight Sun! At this time of year, the sun dips down around 11 and comes back up around 11:20. Maybe that's why I feel oddly energized, seeming to need fewer naps and less coffee than when I'm at home. Or maybe it's just the joy of adventuring that has me feeling more alive and alert than usual.

- The "Yukon Windshield" that is code for cracked, and every local car has one, including my sister's and her new husband's. It has to do with the roads department using sand and gravel in winter, not salt.

- The price of gas at $2.10 per litre. I'm glad to be driving an itty-bitty Honda Civic. Meanwhile, everyone else is in gigantic trucks with extra gas tanks stashed in the back.

- The number of Germans, Austrians, and Swiss (apparently this is a very popular destination), many of whom are driving their own camper vans with European license plates. I can only assume they've brought their vehicles over on a cargo ship somehow, but I really need to ask.

Tomorrow marks the end of Dawson, but not the end of our Yukon adventure. In the morning, we'll cross the river on a ferry and continue along the Top of the World Highway into Alaska. We'll visit the town of Chicken (pop. 17), and make our way back into Canada at Beaver Crossing. Then we hope to travel down the magnificent Kluane mountain range over this weekend. More stories to come!