Plowing the Road!

Back to the North Country. Here we are on the Northernmost Land Post of the U.S., looking out across Poker Creek Gulch to ridges of rocky outcrops and no trees. We walk up to Cat Pass and can look down into Canada, actually we are already in Canada. On the road up to the border, one of the locals mans a grader for the State, smoothing the roads. He is a gold miner, and this is a job that gives him some extra cash for his family. He had three kids, Timber was the oldest, and Cheyenne was the youngest, and I can't remember the middle child's name. We think it had to do with a gun. They lived down in the draw on Poker Creek and ran a sluice for gold. Anyhow, the grader job was a nice addition and no one checked up on him. So a lot of the time there would be a ridge of gravel and dirt down the middle or off sides of the road that stayed there for a week or two. He would always have a reason for the delay in the finishing of the job. One time he said he was off in the trees taking a crap, with his pants down, and one would hope so, and a bear came wandering up to him. So he had to jump out of the woods, get his gun and shoot it. Then he had to put it in his rig, make it to his truck, and then get it home to butcher. We assumed it became food for his dogs. And then there was needing to get the mail, once a week, which meant you showed up at Action Jackson's to shoot the breeze with everyone else, and drink a little beer, and maybe make it back home.

This gentleman used to live out on the Kuskokwim River delta, house sitting, so to speak, which was really care taking, and was married with just Timber in tow. He had married a school teacher, and took her out into the boonies to learn about living off the land. They would also get delivery of staples by airplane. But as the season moved along, the plane did not show up, and they were running out of food and necessities, and finally with the weather changing, decided to walk out. They made up packs, and took turns carrying the young boy. They were walking in muskeg most of the time, looking for some sort of firmer land to walk on, which meant they took and erratic course through the delta, heading for Aniak or Bethel. It took a long time and the boy would get tired and restive. To keep him going they would promise him ice creme when they got to civilization, but Timber finally asked them what ice creme was going to be for him. He had no idea. He had probably chewed on smoked meat most of his short life. I don't think his wife was too keen on repeating that summer.

They next lived down in the gulch, sluicing for gold, with a soddy, a trailer, and an old school bus to call home. The soddy had fireweed sprouting out the top of the sod making a rather attractive scene, but inside was gloomy, dank, and full of one huge bed, piles of clothes, a wood burning stove with a huge pot steaming on it, and dogs in various places. The trailer was locked and not looked into. The bus was out along the creek, which was cloaked in willows, and possibly bears, so that one carried a gun and took the dogs to reach the bus. This is where the sluice was set up, and had plastic carpeting in it dotted with pieces of gold. The bus was an emergency retreat from bears, or the weather. The gold just sat in the carpet, and I asked if they worried about theft. They didn't as everyone who mined down in the gulch respected each others claims and were also armed. When I visited I was told not to stop until I arrived at their claim as I could be shot. Getting to the claim was down a very steep road that I hoped I could get back up when I left.

There was also small cabin along the way with a stove built outside and piped into the building. I was told that someone called Hygrade lived in this sauna one winter, and ever since wore piles of clothes. He would have to go outside to stoke the fire, and it would get so cold down in the gulch that things would freeze instantly. Hygrade was supposed to have out of body experiences. One day I saw him all dressed up and looking clean. I asked him what was up, and he told me he was going over to Whitehorse for a few days of vacating. I wondered why he didn't just go out of body! Although he did look pretty good and it would be a shame to waste the effort.

Action Jackson's had a three seater outhouse to serve the tourists that came through by bus. The experience of having home made pie at the restaurant/cabin would call for a use of said facility. One tourist asked if anyone was in the outhouse, and AJ took out his pistol and shot the building, and when no one came out, said, "no"! It was a reality check for that tourist. AJ's also had the only airstrip for a large area, and the mail would be flown in once a week, weather permitting. The collection of people was worth the trip down to get the mail, and the stories of living in the area worth the listening. A lot of drinking would happen, and maybe no one would get back to their claims. I have more stories, and will write them down soon.