by Linda Aksomitis

David & Linda Aksomitis with the Scandic on Trek over the Top

I’m not a mountain person. I’m not even really a hill person. I’m also somebody who knows too much for her own good sometimes. So, when my husband, David, and I planned a snowmobile adventure trail ride for the Yukon last winter, I was sure I knew exactly what to expect. An empty horizon as white and flat as the eye could see–I’d been to Churchill, Manitoba, after all, so knew exactly what the far north looked like.

As to the snow covered highway we’d be trailing over, named the Top of the World Highway, well, everybody knew that the Yukon and Alaska were at the top of the world. Didn’t they?

The far (farther than Churchill) north I soon discovered, as my husband and sons had maintained, wasn’t flat. Not even remotely. So much for being the experienced traveler.

The closer our rental truck came to Tok, bouncing over the rolling Alaska Highway, the more panic grew like a lump of black bitter coal in my throat. I held out a hope–a very small one–that the mountains would suddenly fold back into the tundra where they belonged. They didn’t.

None of this, of course, dampened David’s spirits. By 5 a.m. (8 a.m. I must admit on Saskatchewan time) Thursday morning, we were up, repacking our necessities to take with us on the snowmobile, and heading to the Alaska Trailblazers facility in Tok. I was shaking in my boots. He had a grin that spread from one ear right to the other.

Registration went fine. We drew our numbers for the poker run, although why we bother I’m still not sure–in thirty years of snowmobile runs neither of us has ever even come close to winning a penny. It’s a good thing we go for the snowmobile trail ride!

Breakfast went much too quickly, although we did meet and talk to a few other snowmobilers. Finally it was back to the Trailblazers building to break open the hotshots for my snowmobile boots and mitts, and pull on as many layers of clothing as I thought I could manage and still be able to bend. After all, it was -35 and we’d already been warned it would be -40 or lower when we dropped elevation on the trail.

I was glad to see a few other women dressing. And talking. One grimaced. “How’s it this year? Better?”

The other said, “If it’s not, I’m turning around.”

I quickly withdrew. Whatever it might be, I hoped it was gone altogether!

David and I pulled out with some of the earliest snowmobiles. Our rental was far from his choice of machinery–a wide-track Ski-Doo Skandic. He looked enviously at the  REVs and mountain sleds. We did, at least, have enough room in our cargo area for the fuel can and a single bag for the weekend, while others had to tarp strap things on wherever they would fit.

We spent the first five miles getting used to the Skandic. There was no pretending it was meant for anything other than being a pack-mule, and I was the pack straddled over the wide seat, slip-sliding under David and generally getting shook to bits. I already knew from years of experience that I’d have to be able to ride as fast as the machine could reasonably carry us if I wasn’t going to drive myself, so I gritted my teeth and tested different riding styles.

Sleds on the Trek over the Top trail--photo courtesy Yukon Tourism

While those first seventy-five miles into Chicken were cold–and I do mean cold–they were also windy and smooth and fast. We soon had a rhythm going and I started to appreciate the sled, even without handwarmers or other such luxuries as normally are found on 2-up sleds.

The stop in Chicken took awhile–we set our helmets on the rack over the woodstove to dry out, ate some hot dogs, and did a few stretches to get the kinks out. So far there hadn’t been anything I couldn’t handle, and I was beginning to relax.

Soon after we left Chicken, I formed my own opinion on where the name came from. Everybody who was too chicken to go any further stayed behind!

Those next sixty or so odd miles to Boundary had mountains that were higher and rougher and steeper than anything we’d covered yet. The temperature, though, was rising, and the sun had finally popped over the mountain peaks. We were making good time and I wasn’t even particularly cold. Things looked good, until I remembered that we were on the Taylor Highway to Boundary (which is at the U.S./Canada border), and the Top of the World Highway was yet to come.

All that bouncing–and a cold one in Boundary, while David helped two non-mechanics fix their snowmobile, meant I had to check out the outdoor facilities. Much to my amazement, I discovered northern toilet seat covers, shaped out of styrofoam pieces, provided a non-icy surface for outdoor plumbing fixtures. Who knew?

We spent about an hour stopped, fixing the sleds, and getting to know the two guys David had helped–Jason and Mike (who helped make the whole trip memorable), so snowmobile after snowmobile stopped, fueled, then continued on past us.

The worst, we soon realized, loomed on the horizon. Jason and Mike assured us they’d wait to make sure we made it past–it now had a time–the terrible terrace.

Warm as toast, but shaking in my boots anyway, we climbed up out of Boundary with the snowmobile and tackled the next part of trail. It climbed and twisted and turned and then … the road disappeared beneath a rock-solid snowdrift that lay at a 45 degree angle from the top of the mountain to the next ridge.

David slowed the snowmobile,  threw his weight to the inside, and started across the terrace.

I screamed. “Let me off! I’ll walk!” I yelled.

He ignored me.

The wind caught and the sled drifted a little lower. David feathered the throttle. I threw my rear up over the side, hanging over the steel frame of the cargo box.

We inched along the terrace trying not to look aaaaaallll  the way to the bottom–imagine I told myself, that it’s only a sixty foot coulee–I’d jumped those before with my snowmobile and survived to tell the tale (the sled had too, but its condition may be one of the reasons David prefers to have me where he can see what I’m doing).

The first terrace was maybe half a mile, the second one was longer. I didn’t do any more screaming–it took too much energy, which I needed for throwing myself from side to side to help hold the snowmobile from careening down the mountainside.

Before the last sixty miles was done we’d traversed another couple of terraces; driven well above the treeline at the mountain top, in winds so high I thought my helmet would be yanked off my head, or well, maybe with my head; and passed most of the snowmobiles that had gone through while we were stopped. That’s one of the risks of riding behind a retired snowmobile racer–he can’t stand to drive behind another sled.

Dawson City below, looking down from the surrounding mountains

I’ve never been happier to see anywhere in my life than Dawson City when it  appeared in the valley below us! I was tired and sore and hungry–and more than a little ready for the good time and relaxation that followed for the next few days.

When it was time for the return journey Sunday morning we felt like pros–hey we’d done the 200 miles once, so the second time I could just relax and enjoy the scenery (right?). We were far from the first to leave for the return half of the Trek retracing our path, but much to everyone’s surprise, we were the first riders in to Chicken–and have our Chicken keychain souvenirs to prove it–and the first ones back in to Tok, Alaska. To those shaking heads and muttered, “Two-up riders on a Skandic; who’d believe it?” we can only say, hey, it was a great ride and we’ll be back to do it again.

Somewhere in those mountains I left my fear of heights (at least while snowmobiling) and we both found a love for the Yukon–David’s even trying to convince me to move. Who knows?

If You Go:

More about Trek Over the Top: http://www.trekoverthetop.com/

Copyright September 2006 by Linda Aksomitis. All rights reserved.

Downtown Hotel in Dawson City, Yukon

by Sourtoe Linda (Aksomitis)
That’s right–I’ve got the right to call myself a Sourtoe–even have a piece of paper issued by the Yukon Order of the Sourtoe Club to prove it. The Sourtoe Club was started in 1973, and my certificate, dated March 3, 2006, is numbered 20874, so I’m far from the first–or last–sourtoe!

Exactly how do you get to be a Sourtoe? Well, it’s not for the squeamish or weak of spirit (spirits however,  consumed in great quantities, do make the whole process easier to take). My liquor of choice was peppermint schnapps, a strong enough flavor to hide whatever taste the pickled toe in the shooter glass might have. Indeed, the sourtoe is a REAL human toe, complete with a brown-stained, cracked toenail and a few hairs.

The process is simple. Your ounce of alcohol is poured into a shot glass over the sourtoe. You, the inductee, need to down all the fluid while being carefully observed to make sure that the toe comes in contact with your lips as you drink. There is, of course, a chant and ceremony, as spectators all watch to confirm (or deny) the drinker’s claim to have touched the sourtoe.

This notorious Yukon Order of the Sourtoe Club was founded by Captain Dick Stevenson. Why? In response to a dare of course–what other reason could there be?

Legend has it that Stevenson discovered the petrified remains of a human toe under the floorboards of an old miner’s cabin on the Sixtymile River. The toe made the rounds of local saloons, until someone dared Stevenson to stop flapping his lips and use them to prove himself by putting them to a drink with the sourtoe in and swallow it instead. As chance would have it, a newspaper reporter happened to be present, and the legend was born.

Captain Dick, owner of the Downtown Hotel, carries on the tradition. The toes, which only a few brave (crazy) souls have swallowed, are donated by people, mostly Yukoners, who lose a toe to some calamity, such as frostbite. The Sourtoe induction ceremony takes place in the Downtown Hotel’s lower level, in the Sourdough Saloon.

During Trek Over the Top sleds fill the streets in front of the Downtown Hotel

The Downtown Hotel, as you might imagine with the Sourdough Saloon, is a happening place in Dawson City. During the 2006 Trek Over the Top, when I visited Dawson, it was our central location, where we knew we could sit down for an hour and always find either a friendly local Yukoner, or visiting Trekker, to talk with.

As well as activities that might not suit the faint-of-heart, the Downtown Hotel also provides a classy dining room that rivals any hotel. In the Jack London Diner, on the hotel’s main floor, you can expect to fine white linen and candles, along with some great food. I had the Arctic Char, a local favorite, and highly recommend it.

Jack London, who the dining room is named for, was a writer who brought the spirit of the Yukon to the World. His most well known book is Call of the Wild, although he wrote over 50 novels and stories. London, an adventurer born in 1876 in San Francisco, landed in the Yukon in the winter of 1897 and found his own kind of gold in the Klondike Gold Rush, when he began publishing.

Along with bringing the wild to life, London also was an activist somewhat ahead of his times. One of the most publicized figures of his day, he supported socialism, women’s suffrage, and eventually, prohibition. He was among the first writers to work with the movie industry, and his novel The Sea-Wolf became the basis for the first full-length American movie. He was also one of the first celebrities to use his endorsement for commercial products in advertising, including dress suits and grape juice.
Downtown Hotel in Dawson City

The Downtown Hotel is a great place for fun!

The name, Jack London Diner, seemed to fit right into the Downtown Hotel!

Of course, one of the key things people look for in a hotel is a comfortable place to sleep. We weren’t disappointed on that point either! Our room was one of the 34 in the main part of the Downtown Hotel, which was renovated in 2002. Although we didn’t visit the Annex, which has an additional 25 rooms, glass roof atrium, courtyard, and jacuzzi, we certainly heard about the fun other Trek Over the Top participants had!

During other parts of the year, when visitors don’t seem to be just on snowmobiles, the Downtown Hotel offers a limousine service to the airport and transportation around Dawson City. Mind you it’s only a block or two to some of Dawson City’s other attractions, including Diamond Tooth Gertie’s gambling hall.

So, when you check in to the Downtown Hotel, tell them Sour Toe Linda sent you!

For More Info:

Make a reservation at the Downtown Hotel: http://www.downtownhotel.ca/

Find out more about Trek Over the Top at: http://www.trekoverthetop.com/

Find out more about Jack London:  http://london.sonoma.edu/

Copyright September 2006 by Linda Aksomitis