Firth River Gold Rush
Gold - to be had for the taking-riches overnight-adventure-excitement- all spelled out in the magic words gold rush-stampede.
Pool Field had discovered rich placer ground in the Firth River Valley in the Canadian Arctic, and when the word came out the rush was on.
The Firth River empties into the Arctic Ocean south of Herschel Island on the bleak, barren, windy coast that is considered to be the most inhospitable area in the whole Arctic, especially in the spring, the season of forty miles an hour winds that inhibit travel by even the best of men and dogs.
The valley itself, of course, lies back from the coast, and the river finds the sea after travelling through a deep canyon which, because of the winds, is known as the Blow Hole.
Word of the stampede soon reached Whitehorse, and a group of businessmen immediately decided to send in stakers and acquire some placer claims along the Firth River. A placer claim is 1,500 feet along a stream, and each person can stake one claim for himself and two more by proxy for other persons.
And so it was that Curly Desrosiers, Alex Van Bibber and myself headed north Whitehorse to the Firth Valley to stake claims along the river, the expedition being financed by the six men who wanted claims by proxy.
It was March, 1948, still very much winter in these latitudes, and for an airplane we took a three-seater Piper Super Cruiser equipped with an aeromatic propeller and skis. Our route should have been north to Dawson, then north again from Dawson 300 miles to Old Crow and then north again into the Firth Valley. This was the best route, but it was not possible because we could not refuel at Old Crow; so it was decided to go via Fort McPherson and Aklavik where aviation gas was available, then northwest to Heschel Island.
Initially we planned to land at Herschel Island, engage the services of Eskimos and dogs, journey into the valley, stake our ground, return to Herschel and fly home from there- a good plan which never came to pass.
For such a trip three men required a fair amount of gear and grub, and when we had it assembled it took an imposing amount of space and represented a considerable weight for our aircraft to carry.
The mandatory emergency gear for aircraft flying commercially in these latitudes consisted of one sleeping bag per person, one axe, one rifle and ammunition, a first aid kit, nose tent, and blow pot for warming up the airplane engine,one pair of snowshoes, extra oil, funnel and chamois for refueling, pocket compass and maps, matches and dry rations.
In addition to this, of course, we carried a tent with a stovepipe safety, a Teslin stove, snowshoes for Curly (Alex was going to pick up his in Dawson), our personal packs containing extra clothing, moccasins, socks, camera, towel, razor and toothbrushes, etc.
Our grub was kept to a minimum, as there was no point in carrying food to places along the route where we could always purchase what we required. There were the dry rations for emergency.
The Super Cruiser has one seat in the front for the pilot, one wide seat for two persons back of that, and a small luggage space behind that again. A plywood bulkhead separates this area from the fuselage.
Finally everything was stowed, still with room for ourselves. We climbed in, started up and headed for Dawson. Our speed would be 90 to 100 miles per hour, our route over a distance of some 350 miles. Fuel tanks would keep us aloft for five hours, so we were in good shape for the first leg of the journey.
Apart from the Alaska highway, which traversed the southern part of the Territory, and a road south from Whitehorse to Carcross and Tagish, there were no road in the Yukon in those . . . . . |
