Wednesday August 5th, 2020
The Atlin Whisper “Never doubt that a small group of committed citizens can change the world.” Margaret Mead
A BLAST FROM THE PAST! Atlin Many Things to Many People Atlin News Miner 1972 Diane S Smith Atlin is a youngster in the eyes of history. A scant seventy-two years old, it was founded when a prospector’s pan first held tiny particles of Pine Creek gold and men swarmed to grab a share of the wealth. Atlin boomed when the horse was king in the world of transportation and when muscle sweat and curses were the major forces behind earth renting and operations that gouged gold from the streams. Atlin enjoyed a boisterous youth then settled into a declining middle age. Atlin has always been many things to many people. Mostly the first stampeders saw it only as a place to make a fast buck, a place to grab for the brass ring before drifting on to the next strike. But many of the first gold seekers found it suited them as a place to settle down. For them it was right for building homes, raising families and becoming established in the community way of life. These were Atlin’s real founding fathers. An unfortunate few found it a point of no return, a place of shattered dreams and lost hope. Others fell victor to a northern nature’s fatal sword. For some, Atlin became the end of the road but for others it was the end of the rainbow. The ones who stuck it out through the lean years are the ones the later day pioneers owe tribute. They were the stubborn ones who kept Atlin on the map when an economy based on gold production sagged disastrously and it was often a challenge to keep body and soul together. A unique combination of the “Atlin Spell” and the tough perseverance of these settlers kept the town quietly alive while others faded into history. Atlin waited while the world outside passed through decades of war and prosperity then into a time of restlessness born of overcrowding and a singular dedication to materialistic pursuits Atlin became a little quieter and emptier while clinging to the hope another boom would occur but unaware it would be quite different from the first. The village has a charm, now rare. An old-fashioned atmosphere prevails that is a balm to a victim of the plastic and chrome world to the south. Here the new log buildings blend amiably with the old false fronts. The sound of horse bells and the clop, clop of hooves is heard in the streets. A malamute’s wail may rent the still night and whirring chopper blades may cut crystal clear air but the mind-numbing din of factory and traffic don’t exist. Atlin offers solace to the harried spirit worn ragged by the push/pull of the city. It offers vast miles of surrounding wilderness for the sportsman, the nature lover or the loner who simply wants room in which to think. Atlin lacks many amenities but inconvenience of outhouses and water storage barrels is offset by an easygoing air. Time is available to exchange a yarn over a cup of coffee or to listen to the tinkle of the ice along the lake shore. Time is also available to skin a moose or to help a neighbor to start a frozen truck. Time is very likely Atlin’s newfound wealth, discovered and highly prized by the new pioneers who harbor vivid memories of the mad hatter pace of other places.