Prologue
From 1979 to 1980 gold prices rose from around $200.00US/oz to a high of $850.00US/oz resulting in a worldwide rush to the old gold fields. This rush was too short lived and smaller than the preceding rushes of the 1800s and the 1930s. It therefore did not receive the media exposure of the earlier gold rushes. To those of us who lived through it, this rush was every bit as exhilarating as those that came before. Of those who swarmed Manson Creek in those days a few found the treasures they sought. Many more found some gold and more memories to pass on. A few, as in the past, lost all they had and left broken men.
The way of life that I first found in this isolated community has undergone dramatic changes. Those of us who remain and the newer additions to our community live in a very different world now. We are still an isolated community in the wild northern forests of B.C. Our lives here are still much slower paced and much less focused on the acquisition of riches than those of our urban neighbours. Jobs are more plentiful now as are phones, satellite television and even internet. Everyone now has a refrigerator and many of the generators are being replaced by solar, wind and small hydro systems.
I have for years repeated some of the stories contained in this book to my visitors over the counter of the general store. Many of these listeners have yearned for more and encouraged me to put pen to paper so that these stories could be both saved and enjoyed.
The riches that filled my head those first days after arriving in Manson Creek have never materialized. I did over the years find many ounces of gold and we still have what we feel is a very rich placer gold claim. What I did discover though was riches of a different kind that were much more valuable to me that the glistening baubles the earth teased us with. I met my life partner Dianne here in Manson and together we have never regretted the path we have chosen.
I expect another gold rush to befall our community again and wonder every winter whether this spring will bring the hordes of young prospectors. This year gold prices have reached a twenty five year high so maybe it will be the one. The easy surface gold is pretty much gone but there remains enough deep channel gold to keep Manson Creek alive for many generations to come.
I would like to thank my parents who always encouraged us to reach for our dreams. We appreciate all the help they have given us over the years even though they still would prefer I lived a little closer to them. I also appreciate my old partner Rolf who gave up the security of his home to accompany me on our adventure.
All of the old prospector miners that I became friends with during my stay have now passed on.
Victor Dyck 2006
Contents
Prologue 1
Contents 2
Chapter 1 The Decision 4
Fraser River 1980 4
Manson Creek Store 8
Stuck on road to Kildare Gulch 9
Bralorne mine 12
Chapter 2 The Town 14
Our camp at Manson Creek 14
Herbie’s cabin on Martin Mines property Manson 17
Hydraulic pit #7 at Germansen River 18
Rolf digging test pit Germansen River 20
Chapter 3 The People 21
Americans cabin at Kildare Gulch 22
Barbecue Manson Creek 23
Store residence in Manson Creek 24
Johnie Neilson 25
Herbie 26
Dick and Marilyn’s place Manson Creek 27
Rolf on Blackjack Creek 29
Our camp Germansen Lake Narrows 32
Chapter 4 The Lake 33
Me panning on Olsen Creek 34
Reggie and his wife on Twenty Mile Creek 36
Our Twenty Mile Creek claim post 37
Rolf on Twenty Mile Creek claim 38
Dredging on Twenty Mile Creek 39
Dick Whale’s cabins on Twin Creek 40
Prospecting cabin on Kwanika Creek 41
Packing wash plant on Kwanika Creek 42
High meadows on Evans Creek trail 43
Chapter 5 Sniping 44
Ron’s wash plant Germansen R 47
Dell Hoagg’s wash plant Germansen R 48
Lower Camp on Germansen R 49
Rolf in our shaft on Slate Creek 50
Chapter 6 Vancouver 52
Chapter 7 The Return 55
Stuck on North Road 56
Road to our claim on 20mi 58
Washing on my claim 20mi 58
John’s outhouse 20 Mile Creek 59
Chapter 8 The Cabin 62
My campsite at Manson Creek, Hank and Nugget 62
Bill Morris on the Germansen River 64
Building my well with my brother 67
Manson Creek Elementary School 68
Building my cabin with dad 71
Johnnie Nielson’s home 71
My home winter 1981 73
Chapter 9 Settling in 74
Chapter 10 The Reality 79
Spring 1982 83
Epilogue 84
Wolf Ridge General Store 2004 88
Dianne and I 88
Chapter 1
The Decision
I had just spent the day sluicing for gold on the Fraser River close to Spuzzum and on the long walk back to my truck I thought “I can do this too”. The day began with me hiking to a remote part of the river in the hopes of staking a claim for myself. It was a fairly easy hike as most of the way I could follow the railway tracks along the river bank. After walking for several miles with a compact sluice in my pack I had seen no sign of any one. But upon reaching the remote sandbar I was dismayed to see an older man there quietly dumping gravels into his sluice box.
He turned out to be quite friendly and I discovered that he had held the claim for some time and made his living as a full time placer gold prospector. After getting to know each other I was invited to spend the day washing gold beside him. Although I did not recover anywhere near the amount that he did, I had both an enjoyable and profitable day. He was relieved that I was not there to try and take advantage of him as he regularly had trouble with claim jumpers in the past. My new friend told of how he lived near Spuzzum and spent fall and winter of each year washing gold on this sand bar on the Fraser River. Working sand bars as he was doing, is best done during low water so one can reach the normally flooded areas on the edge of the river. Some use a small water pump to bring water from the river to the sluice but most like us would just bucket the water. This would reduce costs and preserve the wonderful quiet one experiences when alone in the bush. In summers he headed north to his claim near Likely where he could earn an even better living at washing placer gold deposits. On his Likely claim he would mine the dry banks of one of the gold creeks using a small pump. This was spring of nineteen eighty and the price of gold was fluctuating between eight and nine hundred dollars an ounce and he had washed approximately two hundred dollars worth of gold in the few hours I had spent with him. He had told me that his claim in Likely produced by hand an average of three quarters of an ounce per day!
Fraser River 1980.
My mind was reeling, for most of my life I had jumped at every excuse to spend time in the bush. To my employers dismay I always volunteered if layoffs were offered. I had spent years becoming proficient in the skills I thought I needed to survive in a remote setting. My bookshelves were full of books on hunting, fishing, edible wild foods, building with logs, leather crafts, and mechanics. My heroes were those who had left the city and started a new life in remote areas of British Columbia. One of these writers would prove to have a major effect on my life and later become a dear friend. My dream since becoming a teenager had always been to leave the hustle of city life. Something much simpler and closer to nature appealed to me. I had been raised to feel comfortable in the bush. We had spent many family vacations at some beautiful remote campsites and my dad and uncle had taken me fishing since I was old enough to show an interest. When older I had organized many hunting and fishing trips whenever I could find someone to accompany me.
But for now I spent days thinking about this chance encounter and how I was sure that if this ordinary man could support himself in this manner then surely I also could learn to do so. These thoughts must have led me to be even more annoying to some family members than I usually was and this I believe led to what would prove to be life changing advice. I still remember the event clearly; it was a day like any other with my uncle and I visiting with my dad. I guess as usual I was discussing my newest revelation with them when the quite simple response came, “you are getting far too old for this, either do it or quit talking about it”.
My life did not change overnight but these words were to have their impact. For at least twelve years I had thought, spoken and planned on leaving Vancouver, the city of my birth and rearing. The main impediment was that I could never think of a good way to earn a living if I left the place I knew so well. The bush although beckoning to me all my life was an unforgiving place with limited prospects for the like of me. Spending the rest of my life working to accumulate wealth had never seemed appealing to me. My thinking had been shaped by the alternative cultures of the nineteen sixties. Happiness was my goal in life and that seemed to have little to do with how much money one had. Even though I had worked a nine to five job since graduation and even owned my own home, I was very unhappy living in Vancouver.
Although my father had given the advice I do not believe he had ever expected me to follow it, but the decision was made, I would sell my house in Vancouver and leave for the north. For years after leaving, my mother implored me to reconsider and return to Vancouver or at least within easier range of their home. But my house was listed for sale and I had convinced one of my close friends Rolf to become my partner in this summer of adventure. Even the place of my employment had approved a six month leave of absence which was totally both unexpected and unheard of. My employer would regret this decision as many more leaves were requested by other employees. It seemed to me that this was a road I was destined to take but still had not an inkling as to where it would lead me.
Our plan was to head to the famous gold country of the Yukon, specifically a section of the Stewart River accessible only by boat. With this in mind I purchased a 10HP motor for my twelve foot aluminum boat. I would sell this motor many years later, with very few hours of actual use other than a few days of fishing. Reports we had read of the area of the Stewart we were heading to said many sand bars were like the Fraser rich in placer gold. All our experience to date had been in mining sand bars so this seemed a good place to start. Unlike the Fraser River running through many populated areas and parks the Stewart was much more remote so we would be much more on our own. I was already well equipped with a near new Toyota 4wheel drive pickup with a camper and boat rack.
We spent weeks carefully preparing our plans, purchasing the tools we would need and severing our ties to home. The house sold quickly in just a few short weeks. Finally all our mining and camping supplies were purchased and a plan was completed. It was near the end of April now, I entrusted the transferring of the house with all it entailed to my brother and parents. Rolf and I were finally free to leave.
This trip north was no different than the hundreds of other trips we had made through the scenic Fraser canyon but as we approached Prince George our great plan took its first turn. We were seeing traces of snow and felt that perhaps in our excitement perhaps we had left a little too early in the year. If there was snow here how much snow and ice would there be in the Yukon? In my now greatly reduced library was a book; Goldseekers by Ralph Hall. It was a story of another adventurer who in the nineteen thirties had walked to a remote place called Manson Creek in search of gold and work. We studied the Placer Claim maps and were pleased to see that the Manson Creek area was mostly unstaked and only a little further northwest of Prince George. These maps were very deceiving and we would learn that in those days the maps were up to a year behind. The reality was that the Manson Creek area had been just as heavily staked as the rest of the province. It just happened that the maps of this area were a little more out of date than most.
So we changed direction to the west, we would spend a month in Manson Creek; this would give the Yukon some more time to shake the trappings of winter. The further west and north we traveled the communities got quickly smaller. The highway took us through the center of Vanderhoof where we turned off the highway on to a side road heading north to Fort Saint James. “The Fort” was an early Hudson’s Bay outpost and the first capital of early British Columbia, this Fort and trading post had been preserved and was a popular summer attraction. It was also the site of a large Indian Reserve many of whom would become friends in the years to come. At a gas station just outside of Fort St. James we were advised that Manson Creek was a very small community and there may not be any gas for sale. So of course with this advice we bought several plastic fuel containers full, and to this day it seems this misinformation is still given to travelers on the North road. Dusk was falling as we left the civilization of Ft. St. James on the North Road to the gold mining community of Manson Creek. We started out on the wide, well kept gravel road making very good time, our plan being to drive for as long as we could and then spend the night at the side of the road. Soon after dark we came to a rapid stop at the twenty-two mile signpost. We could not believe our eyes, the road turned into a field of thick mud with deep ruts and large water filled holes left by those who had ventured to cross this challenging obstacle. It seemed to extend as far as we could see in the light of our headlights. Our plans had taken another turn; we could not even imagine crossing this barrier especially at night. So with leaden hearts we pulled over on a small side road and made camp. While preparing and eating a quick supper our conversation was not quite as optimistic as it had been hours before and while falling asleep we tried to imagine where tomorrow would lead us.
The next morning things appeared much better. Another pickup truck driver had managed to get himself stuck in the mud that morning so before proceeding we had to help him out. After pulling him out of the mud we decided to shift into four wheel drive and take the risk necessary to reach our goal. Having many hours of off road experience we felt that we could make it but were in no way confident in this. We made slow but steady progress even though our axles were dragging deeply. Finally after a few hundred yards of churning our tires much like a paddle wheeler we made it to firm ground again. In Vancouver we had sought out muddy areas like this to test our equipment and skills but this was definitely one of the worst mud crossings I had ever attempted. At the far end of the mud we met another prospector with a loaded flatdeck truck and backhoe on his way to Manson Creek. Glen Ashmead had a claim on Germansen River and he had just spent three days getting through the obstacle, every time he made a little progress another truck would plow into the mud. Since he had the backhoe he had to help each fellow traveler out of the quagmire. Needless to say he was relieved to finally be free himself. Meeting Glen left us at an even higher state of excitement; this was an actual gold miner trying to make his way to the Manson Goldfields just like us.
It was a beautiful sunny spring day and in our minds every creek we passed had gold nuggets just waiting to be discovered by the likes of us. We stopped at most of them to do some gold panning and even managed to show a few colours. As the day progressed we started seeing in the trees lining the road some crudely made Manson Creek mileage signs. The road became rougher all the time as we passed first a forty mile sign, then twenty five, and fifteen.
Approximately two miles before reaching Manson just a little past Wolverine Lakes we came upon “Wolverine hill”, the road already down to a narrow track now proceeded to climb very rapidly up the edge of a mountain. The road climbed this mountain at grades over 18% for about one quarter mile. Since the height at the top of the hill was perhaps several hundred feet, the first trip was breathtaking to say the least. There were no pullouts or guard rails to make one feel even a little more secure. On the drop side of the road there were some trees to help break the fall if one went over. But some of these trees had been cut to facilitate recovery of many of the vehicles that had previously fallen off the road. Although many vehicles had slid off the hill mostly in the winter no one was ever killed or even seriously hurt. This section of road would later be improved at a great cost. The present “Wolverine hill” although still frightening to some has been reduced to a maximum 12% grade and is wide enough for two vehicles to pass.
Finally after crossing a tiny creek was a small rise with a sign announcing “Manson Creek the Littlest Gold Town”. After about four hours of travelling the gravel roads we pulled into a clearing in the forest, on the left was an old looking log store, on the right side of the road was a log residence looking just as old from which was walking a woman who gave us a friendly greeting. Then as now one of the first questions travelers are greeted with is “how is the road?” There was also a Museum, some fuel and propane tanks and half a dozen rental cabins nestled amongst the scattered pine trees. While touring the old store we were given some advice on prospecting by Stan Evans and his wife Joan. Stan advised us that most every piece of ground with any value was “claimed by someone”, this is the advice I pass on to the many new prospectors still. They also advised us that there had been gasoline for sale in Manson Creek since automobiles had first traveled the road some forty to fifty years ago.
Manson Creek Store.
I had read much of Manson Creek in a few of my books on British Columbia gold areas and ghost towns. Manson was an old community established in eighteen seventy one when Robert Howell discovered coarse gold in the nearby creeks. At that time three communities were founded, Howellton, Manson Creek and Dunkeld. Howellton was the largest and deemed as the capital of the Omenica Goldfields. Manson Creek had at that time three saloons and Dunkeld had a small theatre that the locals would visit for a weekly stage production. The population of the entire area was then estimated at around two thousand miners.
As in most mining areas this population lasted only a few short years and Howellton and Dunkeld were soon abandoned, left to the ravages of time. The areas that these communities occupied have since been mined leaving no trace of the previous inhabitants except for a few old square nails. This was the fate of most early mining communities. As the first miners arrived they would usually build their cabins in very close proximity of the areas they were working. When the pay in the surrounding areas was exhausted they would burn down the older buildings to mine the virgin ground that lay under them.
The present Manson Creek came into existence when the Hudson’s Bay built the Trading Post in nineteen thirty six. When the new store and other structures were built the miners slowly resettled around this newer center.
Since we had to start our prospecting somewhere Rolf and I decided to investigate Kildare Gulch where the remains of the oldest community of Manson are. The road now became more of a heavily rutted wagon trail than a road, approaching Kildare the trail descended steeply with a drop on the right side. Being a little unsure I hugged the left side of the road, I realized as the truck tilted to the left and the wheels sunk into a mud hole that this was a mistake. The water oozing out of the bank had softened the clay road to create an extremely soft trap that is still there today. We were stuck bigtime, our first day in a foreign land with not a soul anywhere near and we were so stuck we thought the truck would tip right over. First we quickly lowered our camper jacks in order to prevent the truck from leaning any further. Rolf and I then had to walk for help across country through the snow that still clung to the shady forest floor. We had to hike about a mile back where we had seen the last signs of human habitation. In an ancient looking remote log cabin we found a young couple who happened to own a logging skidder. After a financial agreement was reached they drove their skidder down the hill and pulled us to safety. We were so shaken by all this that we spent the night in the camper right on that spot.
Stuck on road to Kildare Gulch.
Next morning our excitement returned accompanied with the energy to resume our exploration. We found two old log cabins, one dated from the original gold rush in the eighteen seventies. The other cabin was from the nineteen thirties gold rush the walls of which were insulated by plastering them with very old yellowed newspapers. Both cabins were at the time deserted but would soon be occupied, one by its owner Jerry and the other by three American fellows who had purchased a neighbouring claim. Many old sluice boxes of different vintage and condition lay discarded by those that had been here before us. Manson Creek itself ran through several channels and these channels were confined by rocks that had carefully been piled so that they resembled laid stone walls. This meant that at some time Chinese miners had been here, their meticulous handiwork was unmistakeable. Rolf and I spent the day taking test pans here from every bit of exposed gravel that struck our fancy. We had finally arrived in the heart of the goldfields and felt like the future held no limits for us. The weather was sunny and warm, we were surrounded by our country’s natural splendour at its best and we had left behind in the city all those who had felt we were crazy!
My partner and good friend Rolf was starting to feel a little nervous though. Like so many people Rolf was worried about having problems from bears, so early the next day we set out to the General Store to buy ammunition for the 30-30 rifle I had brought along for protection. While they sold ammunition there were only some very limited choices. I was dismayed to learn that not only did they not have 30-30 ammunition, but Stan encouraged Rolf in his fear of bears so that now we had an even greater problem.
Later I would come to learn that promoting the fear of bears amongst newcomers was a favourite tactic of the Manson store keepers as it would increase camping in the supposedly safe camping area of the store. But for now we had two choices, head back one hundred and twenty miles to Ft. St. James to purchase ammunition or carry on a further seventy miles over unploughed road to Takla Landing. We were encouraged to carry on to Takla Landing by the Joan and Stan as this would break the road open to traffic and increase their sales.
Later that same day, May first, we set off on our foolish journey. At that time we did not know that this road was never broken open this early in the year unless using heavy equipment. Before we realised our folly we were committed and frankly much of the time we were too scared to stop as we might not be able to get moving again. The first gruelling test of our resolve was encountered right after we left the ploughed section of the main road leading to the high summit leading to Germansen Lake. The steep climb through sections of over 12in deep heavy spring snow was unbelievably tough. Sometimes it seemed like we were making no headway at all. If we stalled we would back up a ways and charge forward with tires churning large rooster tails of snow into the air. This Germansen summit was probably the hardest part of our entire journey. The descent on the other side was almost as scary, with a one hundred and sixty degree switchback. Here though, we had gravity on our side and progress was swift, of course backing up or turning around would have been impossible. Once we reached the bottom we could catch our breath. There was one rather large mud hole to cross but after the Germansen summit it was anticlimactic. The road was now mostly level with large bare sandy sections for many miles around and past beautiful Germansen Lake. Germansen is a gorgeous long narrow lake totally surrounded by high steep mountain peaks.
On our way over the Germansen pass we had glimpsed several times from lofty viewpoints some remains of the Germansen Flumes. These had been built and dug mostly by hand in the nineteen thirties to supply the water for the large hydraulic mining operations. The miners had tapped every available stream and lake for their water but the largest source had been Germansen Lake. On the eastern end of Germansen Lake were the remains of the dam that had supplied these flumes. The gates had long since rotted away but the concrete body of the dam was still there, now being used mainly as a casting spot for fishermen. Nearby were the collapsed remnants of the gatekeeper’s cabin and the telegraph line. They needed the telegraph to send the gatekeepers orders from the hydraulic pits eight miles away. I was told that when the mine foreman would telegraph the dam operator to raise or lower the gates it would take over twenty minutes for the changed water level to reach the work site
As we reached several groups of buildings we stopped to investigate each. Some appeared to be trap line cabins and had obviously not been inhabited for a while. One although it had a lodge sign on the road, looked much more like a crude summer home. Although this was a beautiful location on Germansen Lake to have a home, no one lived here. A few venturesome individuals have over the years attempted to stay here but no one has lasted more than a year or two. The remoteness and lack of winter access would to this date discourage any year round inhabitants.
After leaving the thawed bare road of Germansen Lake we began the slow ascent to the next snow bound high pass of Groundhog Creek. This time the climb to the summit was much more gradual but still slowed our vehicle to a crawl as we dragged our axles through the heavy melting snow. A little further and we came to Twenty Mile Creek with its very steep trail both down to the creek and then back up the other side. At the bottom were swollen beaver ponds and a much too small culvert, the water was already running over the narrow roadway. When we crossed this swollen creek we were left with the feeling that the water would overcome and washout the road at any time, which it did on occasion until some improvements were made. West of Groundhog Creek the road slowly descended again but we continued to have a hard time keeping traction in the thawing snow. The country was beautiful and totally unspoiled although we would have preferred seeing it a little later in the year.
Even when we reached an area free of snow, we would often encounter huge deep water covered sections and bottomless patches of mud. In some places the runoff water would be raging down the road leaving behind a jumble of large rocks and boulders giving it the appearance of a stream bed. Culverts had washed out leaving ditches like small canyons across the road. These we could cross only after filling the ditch with rocks and breaking down the vertical sides.
At Twin Creek we again came on several log buildings. These also were devoid of any human life. This appeared to be an old mining camp with abandoned mining equipment and tailings piles littering the area.
During the day we had to refer many times to the government topographical map when other trails and roads intersected the one we were on. It would be easy to take the wrong trail and get stuck or lost. No other traffic would come this way for many days to rescue us. Other than the Manson storekeepers no one knew of our trip.
Soon we came to Silver Creek and then the junction west to Takla Landing, or north to Vital Creek with the remains of the earliest mining town and gold discovery in the area. Seeing some snowshoe tracks on the road north we decided to follow them as this was the first signs of human life we had seen all day. We were impressed as we passed through the wreckage of Takla Bralorne mercury mine with its huge ovens for cooking the mercury ore. In a few minutes we came on a native Indian who was very surprised to see us. He had a trap line in the area and had built a comfortable log cabin on a tiny lake. After he got over the shock of seeing a vehicle so early in the year, he tried his best to encourage us to continue north for many more miles to Kenny Creek. His wife was staying at another cabin there, breaking trail and bringing her back would save them trekking through the snow. It had taken us most of the day to come day to come this far and we had another twenty or more miles to go, so we politely refused his request. West to Takla Landing it was.
Bralorne mine.
The last section of road from Silver Creek to Takla Landing was still rough but held no major obstacles to our progress. As we neared Takla landing we approached a few natives. They were very friendly and made us feel quite welcome. The setting here was breathtaking, nestled as it was between high mountain peaks on the shore of a large northern lake. Takla Landing is a small, very old Indian settlement with one General Store. This community had been on the route of the first gold rush and many of the natives had played an active part. The road we had broken open was at that time their only link to civilization other than a supply barge that regularly wound its way through the chain of lakes. The natives were ecstatic that they could now travel to visit relatives in Ft. St. James; unfortunately I believe the storekeepers did not look upon our emergence quite as favourably. Takla had a small log General Store a little larger than the Manson store with a large closed sign in the window. It was Saturday evening and it appeared they would be closed until Monday morning. There was at the store no evidence of the residents, not even peeking out the window. We were sorely disappointed as we had fought so hard to get here. Our choice for camp was at the entrance to their dump as it was one of the few cleared areas and afforded a view of the stores yard. Later that evening we were visited by two of the locals who were seeking a bottle of any kind of spirits. We happened to have a bottle of vodka and thought perhaps we could trade for a box of 30-30 shells. A deal was struck and now if we could only get a little gas we could return to Manson and our quest for gold.
The next morning we were overjoyed to see a grizzled older gentleman come from the store to retrieve some gasoline from the pumps. I quickly pounced. He was really not happy to see me and let me know that I was really imposing on him but he reluctantly agreed to sell us the gas we needed. Hurrah we could leave our campsite by the community dump a day early!
Our return to Manson Creek was much faster and less stressful as we now had an idea what to expect. We were also not as easily distracted by the beautiful scenery as when we broke trail. It had been and still was very warm so now small streams ran down the tracks we had made the previous day. I believe the only reason that we were able to complete this trip was because of the large load of equipment and supplies we were carrying. This weight gave us the extra traction we so needed.
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