Rod Perry

“Gold!!! . . . John Beaton and Henry Dikemen

strike gold on Christmas Day!” One last time the clarion cry rings forth, this time echoing out of the remote, unknown upper Iditarod River country.  The last great gold rush on the North American Continent is on!  Briefly, Iditarod becomes Alaska’s biggest city!  

To serve the great human influx and the mining industry, vast numbers of men, and amounts of mail, supplies, building materials and equipment must be brought in.  Most come by water during the usual four or five ice-free months.  Once the inland rivers and the Bering Seacoast becomes ice locked, however, the only means of moving people, mail and freight in and out is over winter trails, mostly by dog team…

I borrowed material for this comparison of dogs and cats from the blog of my old hunting buddy, Christian comedian, author, and minister, Ken Davis (www.kendavisblog.com)   The Dog: “You pet me, you feed me, you put a roof over my head, you must be God.”  The Cat: “You pet me, you feed me, you put a roof over my head, I must be God.”
�
Regarding Dogs and Cats, I have lifted this snippet From TRAILBREAKERS, Pioneering Alaska’s Iditarod, Volume I Blazing the Last Great Gold Rush Trail in North America:   

Old Ben Atwater: “The prize for the most bizarre load had to go to the enterprising opportunist who brought in a scow load of cats.  Just how on earth did the man cage, feed, care for and relay that many panthers from saltwater over the mountains to Yukon headwaters? Nobody knows. But think about it; his logistics must have been something to behold!

Now, when he got to the summit of the pass and checked in to clear customs, he really set those Canadian officials to scratching their heads. They’d never seen such an import. They had no written guidelines on what to assess the man.  What they finally charged was their usual duty to trappers: $1 each on the fur.

When the load reached Dawson the cargo sold as fast as the townspeople could slap down an ounce of gold per kitty.  Al, you shoulda seen those new arrivals tear into the town’s booming mouse population. Man, they were going through the vermin like a dose of salts through the hired hand! Their pace of mouse extermination was only exceeded by the speed the cats themselves were cleaned out by Dawson’s loose huskies!”    

Volume I

Hi Trailmate!

I invite you to don your parka, pull on your mukluks and jump on my sled and journey with me along the trail of this north land blog. Along the way we’ll give you some short excerpts from TRAILBREAKERS. Hold tight to the sled.

-Rod