It’s been occupied by humans for thousands of years. Nomadic tribes of natives roamed the upper Yukon River country in search of sustentance – fishing and hunting for food and trapping for fur to clothe them and provide currency for goods. White explorers found the country and pioneers established trading posts. Soon after, gold was discovered, and thousands flocked to the area. Vast mining camps were established near rich finds, each abandoned for the next potentially rich discovery.
The country became much quieter with the decline of the gold rush era, but a few tough, independent trappers held on, and occupied small remote cabins along the Yukon and its major tributaries. They caught fish in the summer to feed their sled dogs, hunted moose in the fall for winter meat, and trapped through the long, brutal winters.
Around the early 1970’s, an influx of people entered the upper Yukon River valley. In his book, “Coming into the Country”, John McPhee describes these modern day pioneers as folks who were fed up with modern society and wanted to live an alternative lifestyle, be one with nature, minimize consumption and basically live a simpler life. They were the ‘back-to-the-landers’, and they built their cabins and toughed the elements in what was virtually the last frontier available for Americans to do such a thing.
McPhee’s book painted a brilliant picture of the lives of these ‘river people’, and captivated the imaginations of millions. But McPhee’s story ended somewhat abruptly, when the people of the Yukon and their way of life was under grave threat. With the passing of the Alaska National Interest Lands Conservation Act, this part of the river was destined to be deemed a “National Preserve”, managed by the National Park Service. The fate of the river people, those who had stuck it out and were too stubborn (or content) to move back to town, was in question.
That was 1976. What about today? Well the short answer, sadly, is that the river people are gone. In his 2006 book, “A Land Gone Lonesome”, Dan O’Neill travels the Yukon River by canoe, from Dawson City to Circle, and tells the stories of the past settlers, miners, trappers and river people along the way. He describes the history of each trapper cabin, shack, roadhouse and rusted piece of machinery along the great river’s banks. And most importantly, he expands on the human element behind the marks that were left on the land.
Somewhere along the development of the Yukon-Charley Rivers National Preserve, O’Neill was hired by the National Park Service to produce an oral history of life up and down the river. He interviewed the river people, both those remaining on the river and those who had moved away. He dug deep into the area’s cultural history and produced a story that otherwise would have been lost in time.
After reading “Coming into the Country”, some of the most captivating parts of this new book were O’Neill’s culmination of the characters’ stories from McPhee’s book 30 years later. The characters are all but gone from the landscape, for varying reasons, but the heavy hand of the National Park Service is a common theme among all of them.
In the interest of preservation, the National Park Service informed all occupants in the Preserve that they were residing illegally, and ordered them to leave. Through the work of Alaska congressmen, the subsistence lifestyle was recognized by the Service in its internal documents, and some were able to apply for a permit to stay, under certain (often unacceptable) circumstances. It proved too much for most folks to contend with though, and instead they went elsewhere.
Steve Ulvi moved off the river and went to work for the National Park Service. Seymour Able pulled stakes and built a cabin just outside of the park boundary. His family’s belongings were destroyed along with the original cabin. Terry McMullin was deeded land by the local Native corporation and built a cabin there. Randy Brown moved to Fairbanks and became a fisheries biologist. Ed Gelvin has since passed away, and his cabin was burned by the Park Service, just one among a long list. Since the 1970’s, the year-round population in the Preserve went from about 80 to zero.
Some of the other characters met unique fates. Dick Cook was McPhee’s most notable river character, and known as the ‘high swami of the river people”. He was one of the first to settle along the river in the modern era. He also stayed the longest. Cook’s cabin site happened to be in an area claimed by the Native corporation under ANILCA, and he was able to stay on. He continued to live a primitive lifestyle until he drowned in the river in 2001, at age 70. O’Neill tells the captivating back story. He also finishes McPhee’s profile of Joe Vogler, the explosive character, miner, and leader of the Alaska Independence Movement, whose life ended under very strange circumstances.
Dan O’Neill’s portrait of the upper Yukon River truly describes a land gone lonesome. Sure, it’s alive with recreational paddlers and National Park Service jet boats, airplanes and helicopters, but the trappers, miners and subsistence dwellers are gone. And they may never be replaced. That’s something we should all ponder, as a small part of us as Americans still seeks the opportunity to live wild, and may never get the chance to.
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