My metamorphosis from Cheechako to Sourdough was helped along by some incredibly kind Yukoners
It was a cold and early Sunday morning in late October when there was a knock on my door, I opened it wearing my housecoat.It was Shultzie, my neighbour from two doors down. He came walking in and said “Well, Shitterie!” (A phrase that he used quite often and I still use to this day)
“Put on some pants and get in the truck, I’m going to teach you how to keep your family warm through the winter!”. I put on some pants and got into his big 3/4 ton Ford.
We’d rented a mobile home in Northlands Trailer Park and it had a small Arctic entranceway addition with a woodstove.
I’d been living in town for almost a year and the only time I’d been out of city limits was after we bought a small Chevy S-10 pick up from our Child Tax Refund back pay. (It was the only way we could save any money back then – don’t do our taxes then when we did we’d get a massive retroactive lump sum payment all at once).
We’d bought the truck that summer and made a quick turn-and-burn to Golden B.C., to pick up the rest of our stuff. Other than that, I’d never left town before.
Now, I do not condone drinking and driving or puffing and driving, but Shultzie and I headed west out of town with a box of beer and a bag of weed. Virgin territory for my cheechako eyeballs! We passed the Casa Loma and Trails North, the furthest west I’d ever been.
As we passed the Mayo cut-off I said what’s that? “That’s the Mayo cut-off and the road to Dodge!” Then as we started to climb this massive hill, he said, “And this my friend, is Pop-A-Top Hill!” and proceeded to pass me a beer. After a few miles we pulled into a rest area that I now know as the Takhini Crossing pullout.
I jumped out of the truck to stretch my legs and stare around in awe at the beauty surrounding me. When I jumped back in, Shultzie had twisted up a doobie and stated matter of factly that, “This here, is what we call Puff Point”.
I just had to laugh. But again, I still to this day, tell tourists that the hill is Pop-A-Top and the pullout is Puff Point.
We carried on down the road, chit-chatting when I wasn’t too busy staring at the spectacular views and scenery that I lived so very close to but had never before seen. Every bend in the road was like a postcard image. They still are, and I’m very lucky to now live out in Mendenhall and see this all, every time I go to town and back.
Sometimes when I drive past Kusawa Lake Road, I chuckle to myself, thinking back on that very first trip with Shultzie, taking me down there.
We pulled into the Takhini Burn rest area and he said, “If you’re going to need an outhouse, this is your last chance for a while.” I was good but it was time for another beer.
Then we headed down Kusawa Lake Road. We got about five 5 miles down it and he slowed the truck to a crawl and hunched over the steering wheel, staring at the bush on each side of the road. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Looking for dead ones”. After a while he saw one and pulled over to the side of the road.
A lot of things have changed in the Yukon since we took this trip nearly 25 years ago and a lot of what we did that day would be totally against the rules nowadays. But looking back, I can totally understand how some folks could wish for the old days again. Back when you could make an honest living with a saw and a truck, maybe some chains.
We jumped out of the truck and headed in to find the ‘dead one’ that he’d seen. We got up to it and it was massive! Probably 18” thick at the bottom and 50′ tall. “Right on!” I said. “Are we taking this home?”
“Nope! See that little branch way up there with those green needles on it? That means the tree’s not dead yet and will be green. Won’t burn.” “Fetch my saw”, he said.
“I thought you said…” “Just fetch my saw!” I did as I was told. It was the first time in my life that I’d ever held a chainsaw. And it felt pretty good in my hands.
“This tree’s just about dead, so I’m not killing it, just helping it along” he said, and proceeded to show me how to ‘ring’ a tree. After he was done he told me, “Those needles will be gone soon, we’ll come back for this one next year”. And we did.
Shultzie wouldn’t let me run the saw at all, no way, no how. Told me that he didn’t want to have to pack some bleeding newbie cheechako out of the bush to the hospital and get blood all over his truck.
My job was to haul 8-footers to the road. He did the felling and limbing, then back at the road he would buck it up and I’d pile it in the truck. By mid-afternoon, the truck was full and we headed back to town. Three weeks each of firewood, but the beer and weed were gone.
When I told my brother the story he laughed and asked, “But you still had all of your fingers and toes? Amazing!” Hahaha. I don’t think to this day that my brother has ever started a saw, much less felled a tree or delivered a cord. I have to admit that ever since that day, I’ve been constantly looking for, and noticing, ‘dead ones’ when I’m driving anywhere.
To be continued….
