More Yukon Joe

Yukon Joe's diary tells of craggy peaks and gentle rivers, of the great white silence, and of the whisper of the night wind. The loneliness of valleys unpeopled and still brought back to him the haunting sounds of cowbells jangling in the fields afar at the home of his youth. There were also times when the grub for himself and his dogs was low, and each night "the howl of the lone wolf came nearer". A read of his diary suggests that in his relentless mad craze for gold, and when he was in the pits of despair and hemmed in by isolation, he had been hallucinating. He doubted his own sanity after seeing trees advancing towards him in the moonlight, and charted the compass bearings of mountain peaks because they too seemed to shift in the darkness of night. He frequently philosophized about God, and spoke of the devil.  His quest for gold became a "devil's curse for devil dust". The diary records a choking description of him and his pack-dog "Puppy" dramatically escaping from an encircling forest fire in 1956. His clothes were aflame and he lost "very havey and big". But there was always another day when the "washngs from the pan filld a poke", and the cold fear was gone. In the warmth of his campfire he'd sit back and admire the "color of the perple shadows creepng over the mountains" as he'd sketch a sunset scene for another painting. Yukon Joe painted on canvas, stiff paper, window blinds, wine bottles, tin plates, hubcaps, moose horns, buckskin jackets, and on Artist's Conk tree fungi. He sold his paintings to tourists travelling the Alaska Highway and in the streets of Prince George and Dawson Creek.

A story is told and the story is true of a claim-jumper working a sluice-box in the cutbacks of the Nechako River that Yukon Joe had lawfully staked as his own. Joe decided to protect his claim, and shot him in the leg as a warning. Being the skilled and elusive woodsman that he was, the police hunt failed to locate Yukon Joe.  As the leaves turned yellow and the nights cold, and prospecting was over for the season, Joe went into town, inquired whether the police wanted to see him, and turned himself in. He was asked by the judge whether he had risked the possibility of killing the intruder. "Naw, I learned to shoot straight when I was in the army", was the reply. The prosecutor demanded a lengthy prison sentence and a lifetime ban on his use of firearms, but the stern code of the frontier mellowed the formality of courtroom law, and the judge gave Joe only 60 days. The warden, a one-time sourdough himself, knew that Joe was right and the claim-jumper wrong. He allowed Joe to come and go as he pleased providing he'd return by nightfall. When the lights were low and the rum just right Yukon Joe kept his care-taker hosts spell-bound late into the night in the staff-room relating his experiences trekking the arctic trails and searching for gold. The keepers were hushed by this strange diminutive man with long hair, shaggy beard and his stirring tales that ranged from the lure and beauty of timeless things to the fear of ol' death a-grinnin. The breath-taking stories chilled their spines and made their blood run cold. At the nostalgic parting he presented them with an oil painting that he did of the jailhouse and the landscaped grounds. The staff in turn honored him with a supply of provisions for his wilderness cabin. The warden returned his rifle and his dog to him as they bid farewell to their distinguished guest on the twenty-first day. The jail earned a place in history with its boast of having had an artist-in-residence. Today the painting adorns the executive lounge of the new correctional center in Prince George.