Chilkoot Trail National Historic Site

Our day began at 4 a.m. and the atmosphere at Sheep Camp was already filled with anticipation for the day’s journey. Men and women flocked here during the winter of 1898 following the promise of the last great gold rush. Two streets wide and one mile long, Sheep Camp was once a full-fledged town with restaurants and hotels, although no structures can be found today. As I emerged from my tent, other backpackers were bustling around camp preparing their breakfasts, filtering water from the stream and packing up their gear. Before noon we would summit the historic Chilkoot Pass, following in the footsteps of thousands of fortune-seekers who surmounted this great obstacle on a stampede to the goldfields of the Klondike.

The 53-km Chilkoot trail had long been established by the Tlingit and Tagish people as a trading route. It was here that the First Nations met the Stampeders who were required by the Canadian Northwest Mounted Police to bring a ton of goods each, enough supplies to get them though the year. Even with the help of the local packers, it took months to haul these goods over the pass and down to the lakes to the Yukon River.

We threw on our 40-pound backpacks and began the arduous hike up Long Hill. The air was thick with fog and we could scarcely see the way. Ahead, the figures of a man with his two young sons loomed on the horizon. This image seemed suspended in time. The father’s sturdy build, thick beard, and external-frame backpack reminded me of a prospector.

Following the old tramway cable, we arrived at The Scales, the level area below the pass where customs would weigh and approve the ton of goods. Artifacts lay strewn among the snow and boulders — some tools here, a boot there. The mist obscured the legendary view of the Golden Stairs, pictured in the iconic photograph of the packers as they trudged up the steep, wintry slope. After kicking a few steps into the packed snow, I discovered that the Golden Stairs were not stairs at all, but in fact large boulders. I hauled my body up and over the rocks, thankful that I would be doing the trip only once. Upon reaching the summit, wet and tired, I scanned the pass around me. Everything was white on white.

“Come over here!” my husband called from up ahead. Resting in front of him was a massive pile of wood and rocks known as the Stone Crib, formerly the end of the tramline. We pulled out our cameras and the world around us suddenly brightened. As I looked up, the alpine wilderness unexpectedly appeared as a backdrop for the spellbinding historic remnants. Stunned by the inspiring view, I didn’t even have time to frame my picture. The mist fell again, but I knew I had experienced the perfect moment. With two more days to explore one of Canada’s greatest living museums, I sensed there would be more to come.

— Jessica Auer, winner of the Canada's History Storied Places contest, 2010

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