Alternative Routes to the Klondike Goldfields

Letter 6

When thousands of stampeders rushed to the Klondike goldfields, not all of them took the Chilkoot Pass trail. This route, used even before the Klondike Gold Rush, was known to be hard and perilous. When thousands of Klondikers began their journey, dozens of alternative routes sprang up, each heavily advertised as providing easier access, promising quicker riches, or fewer hardships. Almost all these routes ended in disappointment; some ended tragically.

This article takes you down four of those lesser-known paths: the luxurious but risky All-Sea Route, the dangerous glacier-crossing All-American (Valdez) Route, the disastrous Ashcroft Trail, and the ambitious yet ill-fated Stikine and Edmonton routes. The tales below reveal both the stubborn hopefulness and grim realities of the Klondike Gold Rush’s less famous trails.

All‑Sea Route: The “Rich Man’s Roundabout”

Wealthy prospectors could choose the all‑sea route: a three‑thousand‑mile steamer journey from Seattle to St. Michael, followed by another seventeen hundred miles by smaller river boats upstream along the Yukon River to Dawson City. It was a lengthy journey, yet in theory, stampeders wouldn't have to walk a single step. 

However, theory rarely matches reality. The Yukon River’s navigation season was incredibly brief, something many travelers overlooked. Of the 1,800 who took the All-Sea route in the late summer and early autumn of 1897, only forty-three reached Dawson before winter set in. Even those few who arrived often had to abandon their outfits in the frantic final miles, leaving them helpless to stake claims in Dawson City.

As one contemporary guide warned, anyone leaving the United States after August 1 could expect to be stuck, trapped by ice. By winter, more than 2,500 hopefuls were scattered and isolated along the frozen river, their funds drained, their dreams dashed. One discouraged prospector wrote bitterly, “The river closed around us like a trap. We had gold in our eyes, but now there’s ice in our boots. Dawson might as well be on the moon.”

The story of the All-Sea route is a chilling reminder that speed and comfort come at a cost. It sounded easy, but nearly everyone who banked on it paid dearly for misjudging the Yukon’s brief seasons.

Valdez (All‑American Route): Glacier Horror 

To avoid dealing with Canadian customs officials at Dyea and Skagway, thousands of stampeders chose what became known as the “All-American” route, through the Valdez glacier. Approximately 3,500 people arrived at Prince William Sound and attempted the perilous glacier crossing, trekking across a massive ice sheet to reach interior river routes. Guidebooks misleadingly promised easy passage and nuggets as “big as birds' eggs,” luring many to their doom.

These stampers quickly realized their mistake. When they arrived, wet snow six feet deep blocked any advance until March of 1898. Yet even then, the real journey was just beginning. Avalanches soon roared down, burying people and supplies beneath tons of snow. A single avalanche trapped two dozen travelers; rescuers managed to save all but two, but their equipment was permanently lost beneath twenty-five feet of snow.

Even those who survived the glacier found little relief. The route beyond the ice, along the Klutina River, was a nightmare of rapids and shipwrecked dreams. Hundreds of boats built by the stampeders were shattered against rocks or overturned in violent currents. By the end of 1898, barely two hundred out of the initial 3,500 travelers had eventually reached the Copper River, and far fewer made it beyond to the Klondike.  Most simply turned back, defeated by nature’s obstacles. A survivor grimly recounted: “Our outfits lie scattered along the Klutina—proof of foolish dreams and over-eager hearts.”

Ashcroft Trail: The Long Canadian Overland Venture

Some stampeders, driven by national pride or simply by the desire to avoid American customs at Skagway or Dyea, chose Canadian routes through British Columbia. One of these was the Ashcroft Trail, often called the "Long Trail," which started in Ashcroft, BC (reached from Vancouver), and headed north for a thousand miles across the Fraser River country into the Cariboo district, then followed the remnants of the old Western Union Telegraph swath to Teslin Lake. Its promoters proudly boasted that it allowed prospectors to stay within Canadian territory from start to finish.

Yet patriotic appeals did little to soften reality. As nearly 1,500 men and 3,000 horses soon discovered, the Ashcroft trail was a boggy, muddy quagmire that quickly consumed supplies, animals, and optimism alike. Relentless rains, clouds of biting insects, and poisonous plants turned the journey into a nightmare. A miner journaled: “The trail was a sea of mud. I saw horses stuck belly‑deep, men cursing the black pines.” 

The route followed an abandoned swath cut decades earlier for a failed telegraph cable between America and Russia. Rusting wires, rotting poles, and remnants of native-built bridges testified to earlier dreams dashed. A few prospectors pressed on past the Skeena River, into landscapes of moss-covered trees, treacherous slopes, and endless rain. Most turned back. One frustrated stampeder lamented in his diary: “There was nothing patriotic about this—it was pure folly through black bog and devil’s club.”

Stikine and Edmonton Trails: Ambitious Failures

The Stikine Trail, heavily advertised by Canadian merchants as a Canadian shortcut that avoided both treacherous passes and U.S. border delays, promised steamers, wagons, and even a railway from Telegraph Creek to Teslin Lake. Canada's Minister of the Interior, Clifford Sifton, endorsed it enthusiastically in late 1897, and thousands bought tickets based on these promises. Developers Mackenzie & Mann secured preliminary contracts and began graded roadwork, but the Canadian Senate blocked the necessary land grant for railway construction. Prospectors arrived to find no trains, no steamboats, and barely passable trails. Disillusioned and stranded, many quickly abandoned their dreams.

Similarly ambitious but even more impractical was the Edmonton route, promoted by Edmonton merchants as the “back door to the Yukon.” They distributed pamphlets declaring a trail clear and ready, yet in reality, there was no established route at all. Sam Steele of the North West Mounted Police famously remarked, “It’s incomprehensible that sane men would attempt it.” He was right.

Starting northwest from Edmonton, stampeders followed the Peace River, crossed the Rockies, then waded through the Liard and Mackenzie toward the Arctic Circle. From there, branches fanned across the mountain spine toward the Pelly and Yukon Rivers. In theory, it sounded straightforward, but on the ground, the route barely existed.

Horses starved in pine woods void of feed, nearly every trail segment was ankle-deep bog or blocked by deadfall. One route crossed “Dog‑Eating Prairie,” where starvation drove Indigenous people to desperate measures. Horror stories abounded; a sign on Deer Mountain even counseled, “Due north, Dawson City: starvation and death; due south, home sweet home.”

Of thousands who started from Edmonton, almost none reached the Klondike. The notable exception was Inspector J. D. Moodie’s Mounted Police patrol, which took fourteen grueling months to reach its goal, arriving only after the rush had largely ended.

Beyond the Main Trails

There was never just one trail to the Klondike; it was a web of bold and desperate routes, each fueled by rumor, ambition, nationalism, or necessity. While Chilkoot Pass carried the bulk of the stampedes, tens of thousands chose other ways and ventured by water, glacier, forest, or river corridor in search of fortune. Very few succeeded. But the stories of those who tried, by boat, over ice, or across remote wilderness, are vital chapters of the Yukon’s enduring legend.