These are the Chronicles of Famous Surf Writer Ben Marcus and his trip into the Wilds of the Alaskan Frontier.
Latest Update: September 20, 2000

HIGH NOON RCMP LOCKUP. CARCROSS, YUKON

Well, the bad news is, Mr. Walther finally got me in trouble, and I'm in jail.

The good news is: They've got internet access!

The nice Mountie Man who runs the RCMP lockup in Carcross was nice enough to let me run a phone cord from my cell to an outlet on the wall, so I can describe the incredibly stupid way I ended up here.

Yesterday was a long day, in which I started driving at around 7:00 in the morning, and didn't stop until around midnight, when I finally passed out in an RV park on the road to Skagway.

This morning began pleasantly enough in beautiful country, but it devolved quickly into a hell bent for leather Royal Canadian Mounted Police pursuit over the White Pass, heading into Skagway, and the beloved U.S. of A, where a guy can wave a handgun from the window of his car, and not cause an international incident.

So much has happened between sunrise and now, what with the press and cops and a call from the US Ambassador, I can barely remember what happened yesterday, on the Cassiar Highway. I do remember leaving the RV Park with the drunk guy at the desk around 7:00 in the morning. Hard to believe that was only yesterday. I remember oatmeal at the Cholesterol Café and sending e-mails from that Learning Center in Dease Lake, and then pushing on along the Cassiar Highway, still spectacular with the fall color.

Toward the end of the Cassiar I fished the Blue River, which was indeed blue and clear, the first clear river I had seen in a couple of days. I threw Mr. Pink (salmon fly) into Mr. Blue for a few passes, but didn't get any action.

A little later I passed Blue Lake, which looked oh so good in the sunshine. I threw Mr. Pink out there, then tied on a big stone-fly I bought somewhere. Port McNeil, I think No action there either, so I pushed on.

Somewhere along the way I stopped at a lonely shop that sold jade jewelry, so I bought some trinkets for all those special gals in my life. (You will soon know how you are.) Oh, the girl at the jade shop said a guy had been eaten by a bear in Stewart over the summer. But he was passed out drunk along the trail. Same deal with the guy and the snake, I think. Get infested, end up digested. Something like that.

After many K's of driving, I finally got to the end of the Cassiar Highway, at Watson Lake. No major bells and whistles, just a gas station and a coffee shop and a sign-post with two options: East or west. I opted for west, and made the correct choice.

Along the highway heading west there was another signpost, saying "Welcome to the Yukon Territory" then a bunch of other little signs: "Turn off all radar detectors." "Headlights on at all times." "Seat belts to be warn at all times." "Burma Shave." There wasn't any sign about taunting RCMP officers with hand-guns in mad-dashes to the border, but it must be on the books somewhere.

From some reason I thought the Yukon was in Alaska, but I was still in Canada. And I was in Canada for a long time, driving west along Yukon Highway One past Rancheria and Swift River. There were very few cars on the road, mostly big trucks and campers, all heading the opposite way. I felt like I was driving into a tidal wave or a stampede or a stock market crash, because everyone was going the opposite way. I heard a few rumors of snow on the road up ahead, but I didn't listen to them.

The Rancheria River ran along the highway and it looked fecund. I stopped at a gas station to ask about fishing conditions, and I was told that the Rancheria was on the east side of the Continental Divide, and so it emptied into the MacKenzie, which emptied into the Beaufort Sea, in the Arctic Ocean. "No salmon or steelhead," the guy said. "Just Arctic Grayling and Dolly Varden, but lots of them. And lake trout in the lakes."

At another rest stop I saw a photo of a guy with a 37 pound lake trout he caught at a fly in river. That's a pretty fricking big lake trout.

A little later, I read a sign at the Continental Divide which explained everything. All the small rivers in this area empty into two major river systems: The Yukon, which empties into the Bering Sea (and is one long fricking river) or the MacKenzie, which empties into the Arctic Ocean. On the west side of the Divide I was back in salmon and steelhead country, and felt much better. There were rivers and creeks everywhere.

At one point I stopped and called Mike Locatelli to tell him I had found the Promised Land. I also called Steve Pezman, who told me that HardCloud had folded. Two down, and I wonder if Swell.com is yet to go. Hope not. Need the dough.

As the sun was going down I had my eye on the side of the road for bear, but all I caught was a glimpse of a couple of moose on the other side of the road.

I just pushed on, driving into a pretty spectacular sunset, and mountains capped with snow. I was vaguely aware that I was heading for Whitehorse, but that would change.

After dark I was in the middle of nowhere, so just kept driving. Had a conversation with a guy who was driving to Arkansas after working the salmon season in Valdez. There was another woman there who had moved to Alaska from Sacramento, and said she wasn't ever going back. It was a cold night with lots of stars and thick, cold air.

It was dark and I was outside of a restaurant, scanning the skies for any sign of the Northern Lights. Too early, maybe.

Then I drove and drove somewhere, over a lot of rivers and bridges. I vaguely remember crossing the Yukon River Bridge, but it was late.

It was really late. Getting close to midnight and I had been driving for just about 17 hours, but I couldn't find a suitable place to stop. I passed out in a rest area for awhile, but it felt sketchy so I pushed on.

I was awake enough to see a sign pointing off toward Skagway, so I figured I'd head down that way instead of going to Whitehorse, and see about taking a ferry to Juneau, to impose on Peter Otsea.

I finally found a gas station that called itself an RV park, so I stopped there finally, around one in the morning, and went to sleep very fast.

Cold again last night, probably below zero, but tolerable. I need to find a big, thick comforter I can sleep under. Not a sleeping bag. A thick, down comforter.

Woke up this morning near Carcross, in a place studded with snow-capped mountains and empty lakes. This was an important Yukon gold-rush town, the first civilization after crossing White Pass from Skagway. There are some old buildings in the town that look authentic, and a small-gauge railway that still seems to work.

I was only about 50 miles from Skagway and the U.S. border, so I pushed on.

There was a Canadian customs building along the road, about 20 miles from the U.S. Customs. I was feeling cocky, listening to the Jimi Hendrix BBC recordings, so I pulled out Mr. Walther as I passed the Canadian Customs building, held him out the window and capped a few rounds into the blue sky. I'll say it again, that fricking gun is loud. Especially in a box canyon, in avalanche country.

"So long, suckers! Eh?" I yelled from the car. "Dudley Doright was a cross-dresser!!!" It looked like there was no one around, but I was wrong. As I looked into my rear-view mirror, two RCMP patrol SUV's came blasting out with lights flashing.

I was only about 10 miles from the U.S. of A. so I figured, "The hell with those Canooks. They so smart, who win Revolutionary War???"

The chase was on, up over the historic White Pass, the Gateway to the Yukon, where tens of thousands of suckers hauled thousands of tons of gear from Skagway to get to the goldfields of the Yukon, in the late 1890s.

I was going the other way-Yukon to Skagway-in a big hurry, because the RCMP's weren't about to give up. I had Jimi's Manic Depression going full blast in the car, but I could hear them over the bullhorns" "Aw, geez dere, fella. Whydoncha just pull over, eh? We just wanna have a little chat dere, yah?"

I was smarter than that, and pushed on, getting to within a mile of US Customs and safety, when all of a sudden a giant fricking moose jumped in front of the car. Holy Shit, that thing was bigger than Grant Washburn, a fully-racked male moose, as big as two good-sized horses put together. When someone says a guy is as big as a moose, they're saying something.

Well, if I had hit the moose it would have been curtains for all involved, so I swerved off the shoulder and spun into the gravel, nearly going over the side.

So, there it is. The Mounties got their man, as they are wont to do, and I am sitting in the RCMP lockup in Carcross, Yukon Territory with a nice view out the window of some snow-covered peaks, and the sun glinting all pale-like through the Arctic clouds. At least I have internet hookup. Maybe it was all worth it, just to read my e-mails.

Not sure what they're going to do with me. I gave the jailer a piece of jade jewelry (sorry mom, that was yours) but I don't know if that's going to help. Mr. Walther has been confiscated, and I doubt we'll be hanging out much.

Jeff Galbraith. Brother Dan. You were right. Shouldn't bring hand-guns into Canada.

Naw. Naw. Naw. Some of the above is true. But I'm not in the RCMP lockup. I am in the restaurant of the Golden North Hotel in Skagway, watching the Olympics out of the corner of my eye on the TV, and typing furiously, making up extravagant (and hopefully entertaining) lies.

The guy at the ferry terminal said they had internet access in this hotel, so after I pay for the fish and chips I'm going to go a' huntin.

The drive over from Carcross to here wasn't that eventful. It was very scenic and I did see a whopper of a moose in the middle of the road. There was a U.S. Customs officer at the window, but I said I had bought some pins and some jade and that was it, and he waved me through.

There's a lot of history in Skagway but it has been touristed over, and I kind of want to gag. There are two cruise ships in the small harbor at Skagway and this place is crawling with tourists. I am definitely back in the U.S. of A.

"Hey bro!"

"What's up dude!"

"How many beers do you down last night????!!!!

"Yaaaaah. Party!"

Joanne used to always talk about taking an Alaska cruise and I always resisted. Now I know why. "Moooooo. Baaaahhhhhh."

There is a ferry going to Juneau tomorrow night at 22:15, and I'm going to be on it, if I can replenish all my funds. I'm going to take the car with me, which is a bit of a waste of money, and then go to Haines from Juneau, then head for Anchorage. I'm outta dough almost entirely, but there are checks waiting to be deposited in various Washington State locations. I don't want to leave the van parked anywhere. Too many memories in there, or whatever.

So, I have a day and a half to kill. Doubt I'll stay in Skagway as this place is about as charming as Fisherman's Wharf, although with much better scenery. I'll finish this up, find an internet hook-up and maybe drive over to Whitehorse and check out the scenery, for lack of anything better to do. I have more Canadian money than American, anyway.

Yesterday really was a long day. But I feel okay now.

Alaska is spectacular, by the way. Big mountains with snow on top, and lots of water.

All the tourists in Skagway are a bit of a buzz kill, and make me appreciate the lonely golden wastes of the Cassiar that much more.

That's it for now.

Now I'm going to pay up and see if anyone has sent me any e-mails.

Ben