Many Yukoners have much to celebrate New Year's Eve. But the visitor expecting Klondike-style celebrations could only be disappointed by the restrained activities.
This is the first full year of activity in anticipation of the Alaska Highway pipeline.
Although construction isn't due to begin until 1981 on the Yukon section - native land claims will have to be settled first - the scent of money is already cutting through the cold, dry air.
The cost of a home in one of the crown-released subdivisions is up an average of $10,000 since the pipeline decision last summer. Although contractors have been limited to the number of residential lots they may develop, it is an open secret that they hired men at $3 an hour to line up for lots which the federal government periodically make available. Buyers are well aware that they can turn a $5,000 profit in one day by turning their lots over to contractors on an under-the-table basis.
Commercial properties in Whitehorse have doubled and tripled in value since last summer.
There is a general feeling there will be big money for all by the time the pipeline gets under way. Whitehorse is no stranger to booms. The gold rush at the end of the last century and construction of the Alaska Highway during the Second World War have left some vivid memories.
The current boom won't be directed from the few remaining log cabin and U.S. Army structures in this town of 15,000 persons. Instead, the Yukon territorial government makes its presence known from a rambling three-storey building with aluminum siding meant to simulate weathered wood.
"Outsiders," as the local paper refers to visitors who have caught a whiff of the boom, stay at a remarkable number of downtown hotels. Some small towns abound in churches. Whitehorse has hotels.
It is in the hotels that one finds the public face of New Year's Eve. Drinking is a prime winter sport here, though the contestants hardly lived up to their reputations New Year's Eve. People say, almost apologetically, that the true wild times happen during the mid-winter carnival, Rendezvous Days, in February.
The weather just might be a factor. The temperature hovered around minus 22 Celsius, although it was impossible to get anyone to admit it was cold. A minute after stepping outside, the cold does strange things to the lining of the nose. Unattended cars are left idling in the streets. Ice crystals shimmer under street lamps. Smart people don't frolic in the streets at minus 22 and Whitehorse streets were virtually empty all night.
We picked up a hitch-biker, an Indian by the name of Henry, on the way out to a recommended hotspot, the Kopper King, a few kilometres north of Whitehorse on the Alaska Highway. Since it was New Year's Eve, Henry said he was going to permit us to buy him a drink. Because the Kopper King was charging for its festivities, we headed further north to Porter Creek, home of the Sportsman cafe and lounge of the Casa Loma Motel.
The entertainment consisted of a piano player, a fiddler and a large woman who kept shouting, "Play a goddamn waltz".
Henry nervously noted the absence of native brothers and retired to the nearby tavern where the dollar he had just wheedled woud have greater purchasing power. A man at the bar who had been teetering on the brink of a terminal pass-out, finally succumbed. It was still two hours to midnight.
The Kopper King's festivities were held in, what else, the Kabaret, a lounge featuring photographic tributes to the mining industry. Music was provided by the Ronnie Burla show, a pop band from Red Deer, Alta., whose leader was under the impression The Vancouver Sun was up north to review his act.
The Klondike Inn, a favorite of the business elite, gave over its Inferno Lounge for celebrations. The hottest feature of the evening was the red cartoon devil over the entrance.
Well-dressed couples danced to country music, the music of choice in these parts. The $10 admission entitled revellers to a chance on a one-ounce bar of gold, a strictly coals-to-New Castle proposition here: Gold nuggets are fashioned into every possible form of jewelry, from tiny earrings to gaudy clumps on wristwatch bands.
Where was the Klondike spirit?
"It'll be quiet tonight," a woman said. "This is the night the men bring their wives." Several women nearby muttered agreement.
The Whitehorse Inn, people said, will be wild. The bar has a racy reputation because of its clientele of Indians and transient youth who mix freely. However a model of race relations the bar might be, on New Year's Eve it had all the ambience of an opium den.
After midnight, seasonal gaity was confined to one table where an Indian woman wore three party hats as if to make up for the general lack of interest. When the band singer yelled at the sparse crowd to "C'mon, lets rock and roll", only two couples took him up on it.
As for the magic moment itself, the New Year was welcomed in at the Kopper King by Auld Lang Syne, popping balloons, promiscuous kissing, more booze and more shouting - it could have been anywhere.
For those inclined to nurse New Year's Day hangovers on official company, there was this ad in the local paper: "Commissioner and Mrs. A. M. Pearson extend to all Yukoners an invitation to visit them at the commissioner's residence." The commissioner's residence turned out to be an unassuming house in a new subdivision, distinguished from its neighbors only by a pole flying the Canadian and Yukon flag.
Fortunately for Pearson, a biologist appointed by Ottawa, only about 300 of a possible 22,000 Yukon residents turned up. They were treated to a scene from colonial days. Although the territory has an elected 12-person council (whose members, in defiance of Ottawa, insist on calling themselves members of the legislative assembly), the commissioner has veto power over it. Pearson, in addition to being chief administrator, also acts as the representative of the crown, a kind of pseudo-lieutenant-governor.
Visitors were greeted by a woman in scarlet tunic and long black skirt ("our RCMP formal") and Mounties in ceremonial spurs. Once there, parkas-and boots came off, the prosperous-looking guests munched on king crab legs and quiche, easily playing the part of the gentry making a social call on the local governor.
