A tribute to former editor Ken Bolton, from his What’s Up Yukon family
Ken Bolton didn’t just write for What’s Up Yukon; he helped shape its voice.
When Ken first encountered the magazine, he wasn’t entirely convinced. In his own words, he was “once a skeptic, now a believer.” Over time, that skepticism turned into something deeper—respect, connection and, ultimately, belonging.
He watched What’s Up Yukon grow from a hopeful upstart into a cultural fixture; and along the way, he became part of its foundation—not only as a writer but as an editor and a steady, trusted voice behind the scenes.
Ken’s writing was unmistakable. Over 500 stories across 21 years—that kind of consistency, that kind of presence is rare.
He could cover a jazz performance one week and reflect on losing his passport the next. He could profile a musician with care and insight, then turn around and poke fun at himself with perfect comedic timing.
That range didn’t happen by accident … because long before What’s Up Yukon, Ken had already lived an extraordinary career. But, at his core, he always considered himself one thing—a storyteller.
Later in life, he said his goal was simple: to return to his roots in community journalism. That return led him to us. And we were better for it.
Ken didn’t just cover the arts; he understood them. As a performer, actor, stand-up comic and long-time emcee, he knew what it meant to step onto a stage and put something of yourself out there. That empathy lived in every story he wrote.
But what made Ken truly special, especially here in the Yukon, was how closely he paid attention. He noticed people. He remembered them. He showed up for them. And he found stories everywhere, even in the moments that didn’t go as planned.
In one piece about a Yukon hunting trip, he turned a simple misfire into something quietly meaningful. He didn’t need to be the hero of the story. The humour came from missing the mark, from being human, from sharing the experience rather than mastering it. And on a personal note, I’ll always be grateful he brought my husband home safely.
That was Ken. He didn’t write to impress; he wrote to connect.
He also showed up for me in ways I’ll never forget.
Ken had owned two publications himself, so he understood what it meant to carry that weight. When things were tough, he reached out with ideas, encouragement and support. And when Covid hit, he was the first to email me and ask, “What do you want me to do?” Then he added, “Don’t worry about the cost, I’ll do it.”
That was Ken, too. Quietly generous. Steady when it mattered. Always thinking about how to help. And he showed up for this magazine, year after year, without fail.
There was also a summer when Ken lived in his camper in our driveway. After long workdays he would wander over and join us by the backyard campfire. We would sit for hours, talking about everything and nothing, sharing stories over red wine. Those evenings, simple and unhurried, are some of my favourite memories of him.
Every anniversary, Ken would send me a message. No matter where he was, he made a point of celebrating. In one of those notes, he wrote:
“Most of my body resides elsewhere nowadays, but my heart is definitely still North of 60. And What’s Up Yukon is my left ventricle, at least.”
And in classic Ken fashion: “I don’t know how or why they put up with my BS, but I appreciate the gig.”
He called this team a “magical crew.” He remembered the long nights, the big issues, the shared effort, everyone pulling in harness like seasoned pros. Ken worked with every WUY editor over 21 years, if he wasn’t editing he was writing.
Despite everything he had done—national media, politics, performance—he never placed himself above the work or the people. He saw himself as part of the crew.
When Ken eventually left the Yukon, he did so the only way he knew how … by writing about it in his farewell column, “As we say in the biz … ‘That’s 30’” (he used newsroom language to mark the end of a chapter). It was a fitting sign-off—thoughtful, a little wry and fully aware of the moment. A storyteller closing his own story.
And yet, as with all great writers, the words remain.
He made us laugh. He made us think. And often, he made us see ourselves a little more clearly.
Ken was more than the words he left us—he was part of the fabric of this magazine. He cared deeply about getting it right, and about all of us.
He was our rock.
And now, his What’s Up Yukon family moves forward without him, but not without what he gave us.
—Tammy and Mark Beese
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