The Elation of Tom Morgan

There are tales of the Yukon bush, I'm told

that would still a man's heart and make his blood run cold...

But none impresses me a fraction

of the one in which I saw the action.

It all began in Whitehorse, hub of the Yukon

in a pub, where my lover and I met Tom Morgan.

Tom was a young prospector; Klondike gold was his aim,

and he was heading for Dawson to stake out a claim.

You're welcome to join me, he said with a grin,

But beware of the bush; we'll be going deep in.

And so we set out in Tom's truck without fears,

with provisions for three and a case of cold beers.

Mountains and forests and rivers ran wide

in a vast country untamed and untried.

It was almost midnight, the sky but a lamp

when we arrived where we thought we’d base camp.

It was a shock to see a man and his son

where moments ago there'd been no one.

The elder stepped forward to speak:

What are you doing up here at the creek?

Tom smiled and shook the man's hand.

We've come to stake out a bit of land

along Fireweed Creek a way.

Thought we'd camp here today.

Said the man, This parcel is our motherlode

and I'm the one who pushed through this road.

Son, up a ways a trailer you'll come upon.

We've finished the season, we're moving on.

You can stay, if you please

Then the hike to Fireweed will be more of a breeze.

Just leave the place locked clean behind you.

Don't want to have any bears busting through.

With thanks to the man and his son,

we found the cabin as night had begun.

Tom felt for the key on a ledge where the man said.

We let ourselves in, supped then went to bed.

We slept like babes that night

dreaming of all the gold nuggets we'd find at Tom's site.

Early next morning the sky dark with rain

we set afoot on that boggy terrain.

We followed the creek on tundra, soggy

like sponges, the morning cool and foggy.

We searched the elusive sun's gleam of gold

along the creek, under rocks where water ran cold.

We panned up the creek and had lunch,

then moved up to the ridge, based on Tom's hunch.

To the mountaintop we made our way,

testing the rock outcrops for golden spray.

And with all our laughing and banging on stone,

you'd think a creature could leave us alone.

When all the sounds of life went cold

we felt the mountain shake and fold

as a grizzly charged, the intent to kill

naked in his gaze as he flew crost the hill.

Bear! cried my lover who sprang off in a heat.

I knew I was the straggler, that bear wanted my meat.

The beast came like a nightmare, bolting near,

to a cliff where I stood frozen in fear.

The first shot stunned the grizzly, to his surprise.

He still planned to get me, I saw in his eyes.

Tom fired again, the bear reeled back,

his body shuddering, as though he still meant to attack.

Then Tom fired again, the bear toppled like brick.

A feeling of murder made me feel sick.

As that bear twitched and his spirit ebbed away

it meshed with mine; it's there to this day.

There are tales of the Yukon bush, I'm told

that would still a woman's heart and make her blood run cold...

But none impresses me a fraction

of the one in which I saw the action.

And I'll never think of bears again

without remembering Tommy Morgan.

First Place: Diamond Tooth Gertie's Talent Contest, 1986;

prize: One night at the Midnight Sun Hotel with shower & Continental breakfast