That story I promised you…well, stop me if you’ve heard it before.

See, back at the turn of the last century, when the world economy had taken one of its ordinary dips in the Panic of 1893 (i.e., the Gay 90s), people were roaming the land looking for work.

My wife’s grandfather, out in the western part of the lower 48 states of the US, joined his brother on the quest for Yukon/Klondike gold. The brother stayed in Seattle but the grandfather returned home and paid off loans, using the remaining gold to make three rings, one which belongs to my wife.

Lucky grandfather, lucky wife.

You and I sit here pondering life over 100 years later, another dip in the global economy pushing people to seek jobs all over the world.

My wife and I bid farewell to our land cruise tour director, Ashley, this evening. Sad to see her go on to the next adventure with Holland America “VIPs” like us, without us, creating the next moose-eum (no more “300 dollar” jokes, though please).

The five pillars of Alaska’s economy: tourism, timber, minerals (gold, silver, copper, etc.), fishing and oil/gas, according to Steve Hites, Skaguay’s man about town.

We support all of them in our trek across the nether reaches of Alaska/Yukon/Canada.

We also said goodbye to our last bus driver, Caroline, who dropped us at scenic spots like Emerald Lake and Carcross (where my wife’s grandfather may have seen Lake Bennett on his way to Dawson City).

Some people to thank: Shannon Flynn (who hasn’t cut her hair in 2 years) and Teodora at Bonanza Bar & Grill; Jessica at White Horse Westmark restaurant, who sat in beer tent and listened to music at DCMF; Lynch & Kennedy; Alaska Fur Gallery outlet; Wells Fargo; Dan, Emma, Johanna, Jasmine, Anna, John and Tim (married to Jasmine) of Temsco helicopter glacier tours; Kendall and Windy Valley Boys (Paul Murray, ukelele) of Red Onion Saloon.

Before I started this, I connected to the AT&T 3G service in hotel room, read about the recent shooting/murders in Colorado theatre, Sally Ride dying, major drought in US, Greece’s economy in “great depression,” and the world continuing to let Syrians kill each other.

Had stood outside a store on Broadway and noticed the crowds were significantly smaller between lunchtime and dinner time…had tourists returned to their ship? Clouds covered mountain tops, patches of old snow near peaks.

It takes a worried man to sing a worried song.

Not me.

Your pics for the day.

14:17, sitting on a public deck across the street from the Yukon Territory museum, jade green river flowing north.

My goal in life — to be someone I’m not, a moving target, pretending for the sake of pushing people away from me, keeping a safe distance.

White Horse is not my town, a temporary station on the road of life, the invisible traveler, unknown, leaving no footprints, watching gulls, swallows and people, the river churning poems and short stories, feeding, flowing, freezing, following paths cut by its previous incarnations.

I do not exist. This vessel blocks the wind temporarily, shades portion of a wooden bench from the midday sun, a mannequin for ready-to-wear clothes.

These words are a hidden record of a time that no longer exists. Adieu.

Hello again. Just gone for a moment.

Sat in the Baked Cafe, drank Real Brew Outrageous Ginger Ale, patrons reading books, drinking coffee, enjoying the warm weather…a lot of people with backpacks in town.

[Thanks to server at Westmark restaurant, Nathaniel from Nova Scotia; Robin and Bronwin at MacBride Museum of Yukon History; HA tour guide from Univ. of Florida; North End Gallery artists, Jim Robb, Richard Shorty, Nathalie Parenteau, Robert Postma, Fritz Mueller, Romy and Rene Jansen, Lynn Blaikie; Mike and Louise (from South Africa), of the local artisans market; Noah and Patrick of the real Canadian Superstore; Yula of Dirty Northern Public House; Aileena and Anne at front desk of Westmark.]

While spinning ATV and Jeep tires on backcountry roads, I ponder the phrase “impact on the environment.”

I am more conservationist than conservative.

I respect the rights of others to wear starched shirts and blue ties for banking jobs or henna tattoos and dreadlocks for summer festival attire.

Rugged, weathered faces or pasty, painted faces…doesn’t matter.

Not an either/or proposition, either.

You can collect moose feces, if you prefer.

Our hobbies — the thoughts and actions in addition to our survival behavior — define us.

A few people to thank and then time for a story: Alaska Dan at Tok, soon to be produce mgr at Asheville Ingles supermarket; Chicken Sue; CBSA – AFSC 10525; Jon waitstaff; Juli & Jessica, Dawson City guest services; Trinidad; Najet at Drunken Goat; Rose Marie, Keel – waitstaff; Gold Fields Jeep tour – Paul; museum staff – Linda, Torey; Angela, guide, Klondike Spirit paddle boat and staff/pilot like Margaret; Nick, bus driver, who married his childhood friend 45 years later on 28th Apr 2012; Jessica at the Nugget & Ivory, a math major in college, working with gal from Austria, who might have proved my wife’s grandfather was paid with Bonanza Creek Gold Hill gold when he worked out here during the Klondike gold rush; RV brands Canadream and Slumber Queen; Alicia at Sourdough Joe’s; Tina, Nessa and Viki at Diamond Tooth Gertie’s, watching Swan Lake as interpreted by cancan/saloon dancers, safely risqué, land version of a cruise ship show; Tory the blackjack dealer; earning my Sourtoe cocktail certificate, courtesy of the current version of Captain Dick; Sherry; “Cinnamon bun” Steve; Jessica and Andrew at HA desk; Garett and Malaina (from Brittany) at Antoinette’s; Harue at White Horse Westmark gift shop.

A solitary hike to the top of a local dome is more than invigorating.

Recharging one’s batteries, feeding the wander lust, relieving stir craziness, seeing the sun set at midnight over Dawson City.

Simple, quiet (except singing the bears away).

…or, a well-educated frog says to the chicken, when referring to talkative Peggy’s getting ditched at a roadside stop with a pile of books, “reddit.”

To travel with companions in these moments on “tew-er,” when the tour director, for safety, carries a can of bear spray to ward off humans more than Ursus arctos horribilis the question one bears when one bares one’s thoughts is this:

What is respect? One thousand years from now, what is one accomplishing when framing the digital photographs below? When will the word “photograph” disappear from common usage? Will future tourists read guides about tours of today that follow historic events which were tours, too (e.g., economic tours like the Klondike gold rush at the turn of the 20th century)?

In other words, who mines whom? Are we tourists prospected like mother lode gold veins?

Rhetorical questions? Of course.

Back to uncaptioned images:

Sunrise: 4:46, sunset: 12:02

When the outdoor temp reaches 22 deg C (77 deg F), then the Dawson City Music Festival is just a day away.

Right now, it’s “ish” time, as in “We’ll meet at 8, give or take 15 minutes.”

I shall move my thoughts to the silence of growing things…

On this day of days, when heat ravages the interiour of continents, when one’s continence has contents, if not context, we ask if a cup of coffee is better than a pot of potential or a pitcher of beer.

Meditation is being here and now in the here and now, if not the hoosegow.

Time for caffeine and contemplation of spruce trees, moose crossing roads and Rhodes scholars wearing collars…