The Atlin Whisper, October 28, 2020

Wednesday October 28th, 2020

The Atlin Whisper “Never doubt that a small group of committed citizens can change the world.”

Margaret Mead

Hello Everyone. Atlin RCMP would like to remind all to be on the lookout while driving on Saturday, October 31 for our local Trick or Treaters this Halloween. Drivers are reminded to slow down, turn on your lights and use caution when driving in town and especially in the local neighborhood areas that will be frequented by the children.

Please stop by the Detachment on Halloween as we will have treats for the kids. We will be outside and would like to see everyone dressed up in their costumes.

Covid-19 has added to the usual precautions. Below are a few tips with the usual precautions with a few additional suggestions offered by BC Health that should be considered during Covid-19 to ensure everyone has a safe and happy Halloween: • Carry a flashlight so you can see where you are going. Ideally, young children of any age should be accompanied by an adult.

• Wear clothing with reflective markings or tape.

• Try including a non-medical mask or face covering as part of your costume but not so restrictive that it makes it difficult to breath or ability to see • Make sure your costume doesn’t drag on the ground so you don’t trip • If there is no sidewalk, walk on the left side of the road facing traffic • Never walk out between cars to cross the street • Turn off your porch light and stay at home if you are sick or self-isolating.

• Respect homes by staying away if the lights are out.

• Wash your hands before you go out, when you get home and before eating treats.

• Use hand sanitizer often when out and about Be Creative when handing out treats • • • • • •

Use tongs, a baking sheet or make a candy slide to give more space when handing out treats.

Plan to hand out individual treats instead of offering a shared bowl.

Only hand out sealed, pre-packaged treats.

Wear a non-medical mask that covers your nose and mouth when handing out treats Be more outside, than inside. If you can, stand outside your door to hand out treats.

If you’re unable to sit outside to hand out treats, clean and disinfect d u r i n g the evening

As we approach the anniversary of Wayne Merry’s passing (October 30 th), I wanted to share this reminiscence I wrote about him for Alpinist Magazine earlier this year. I hope it brings back fond memories for everyone in Atlin who misses Wayne!

The Many Lives of Wayne Merry When I met Wayne Merry, I didn’t know he was a legend. I didn’t know people made pilgrimages to Atlin, British Columbia, just to shake his hand. I didn’t know those hands had scaled a half-mile skyward lunge of Yosemite granite using gear improvised from, among other things, a woodstove. I didn’t know a lot of things in 2012, when I moved to the end of the road in Atlin, including how to split logs for a woodstove or how to light a kerosene lantern. That was the first thing Wayne taught me, that you can never have enough light.

Almost a decade earlier I’d fallen in love with the place Wayne called home, a quirky outpost of 400 people on the peakstudded border of Alaska, British Columbia and the Yukon. I came to the Boundary Ranges in 2004 as a student on a glaciology course on the Juneau Icefield, which melts into Atlin Lake, a spill of turquoise that forms the largest natural lake in BC. The name Atlin is Tlingit for “big water” but it was the big sky reflected in it and big mountains all around that made me swoon. I vowed to someday move here; luckily, eight years later, my partner was game. At the time she was a PhD student finishing her dissertation, and I was a writer who hadn’t written much yet, though I was working on a book. The two of us were broke but happy in the tiny log cabin we rented because it was cheap and perched high on a mountain slope, with views to the vast out every window, even the one in the outhouse. What it didn’t have was water or power. So we dipped buckets in a nearby stream and worked on laptops until the batteries died, then went skiing or hiking while the computers charged at our landlord’s place. “But what are you running for light?” Wayne asked us when we ran into him at Atlin’s volunteer-run library.

He was in his early eighties then but seemed a decade younger. His brown eyes were rayed with smile lines beneath dark brows and glacier-hued hair, but he had a perpetually fresh-faced look to him, as if he’d always just returned from a walk in the woods. There was no ego to the man, no compulsion to assert himself. He certainly didn’t mention that in 1958, he’d made the first ascent of The Nose on El Capitan (Tu-Tok-a-Nu-La) with Warren Harding and George Whitmore, a twelve-day vertical slog up a wall previously thought unclimbable. We had no clue that this kind, inquisitive man was rock climbing royalty. All we knew was that Wayne seemed delighted by our off-grid existence on the mountainside—until he learned we were living by headlamp and candlelight, which is to say mostly in the dark. His eyes widened. Soon after, he visited us with two kerosene lanterns in tow, and he showed us how to ignite them without torching the cabin.

Wayne knew something about making the leap into a new life, beyond all the usual ambitions. After making national headlines for climbing The Nose, he went on to marry his sweetheart, Cindy; work as a ranger in some of the most spectacular national parks of America, from Olympic to Denali; and establish the groundbreaking Yosemite Search and Rescue organization—all achievements roughly in keeping with a rock climber on the make, leveraging passion into a profession. Then in the winter of 1974, at the peak of his career, just when he could’ve translated the prestige of summiting El Cap into a kind of permanent tenure, he and Cindy packed their kids and belongings into a truck and moved to the end of the road in northernmost British Columbia.

Fame and fortune don’t typically find a person in Atlin. Instead, life in the Boundary Ranges offers a different set of rewards: air freshly minted off boreal forests, glaciers that melt into a turquoise lake the size of Singapore, and the sort of sweeping, low-angled light that can make anything—a pothole, a garbage can—look sublime. The Taku River Tlingit First Nation had the Atlin region to themselves until the Gold Rush of the early twentieth century brought in 10,000 settlers. The boomtown subsequently busted, and Atlin later settled into its current steady-state, with the Tlingit sharing their traditional territory with a few hundred artists, nurses, miners, teachers, pilots and back-to-the-landers. Photos of the town when the Merrys first arrived don’t look so different from photos of Atlin today. No wonder Wayne likened it to Brigadoon, the name of a mythical, off-the-map village in an eponymous 1966 movie, and since elevated to a noun in the Merriam-Webster dictionary for “a place that is idyllic, unaffected by time, or remote from reality.”

If “reality” means the sort of world in which success comes to those with aggressive self-interest, Atlin is indeed far from it.

People carry each other in this town, in ways big and small, and Wayne in particular carried far more than his weight. Over the years he founded Atlin’s search and rescue society, volunteered for the local fire department and teamed up with friends to prevent Atlin Lake from being dammed. More than once he saved lives, whether by rescuing capsized canoeists from Atlin’s hypothermic waters, or, with Cindy, delivering a baby in the back of an ambulance parked in front of the Red Cross Outpost in Atlin. The parents were so grateful they named the newborn boy after him. The older Wayne rarely mentioned such feats, but when a local nurse delivered a breech baby in Atlin under emergency circumstances, he made sure everyone in town knew. He loved nothing more than to lift others up.

Finding the lost and bringing them home was Wayne’s specialty in more than just a professional sense. Whenever our car broke down, whenever the greywater pipes froze in the cabin we eventually bought, whenever I was at my wits’ end with writing, I would head over to the Merrys’, and in the warmth of their presence everything would feel possible again. They became our adopted grandparents of sorts, and we weren’t alone in seeing them like family. Wayne was a mentor to so

many in the art of making life an adventure. He kept up a dynamic correspondence with friends near and far, sending emails full of whimsy, charm and wildlife sightings. No matter how many times he spotted grizzly bears, wolves, lynx, caribou, or moose, or birds, he saw every encounter as worthy of report, a kind of gift. “We just had a feathered storm of Bohemian waxwings swoop down onto the berry-burdened mountain ash tree below us, and transform it into shimmering, fluttering living thing,” he wrote in one such missive. “It seemed as though the hundreds of flashing wings might lift it right off the ground and carry it into the sky.”

After a while, most people tend to stop noticing the place they live, stop seeing it and smelling it and hearing it, their senses saturated with home. Wayne, though, had a knack for coming at the world fresh, for recognizing its daily wonders and absurdities. He was celebrated for having “conquered” El Cap, a verb that made him cringe, but he rarely talked about reaching the summit. Instead, if he talked about the climb at all, he spoke about waking up on the wall to find himself prematurely aged, thanks to the bushy-tailed woodrats who had torn open a sleeping bag, scattering white goosedown into his hair and eyebrows. Or about stuffing the love letters he wrote to Cindy into a Hunt’s fruit cocktail can, which he dropped over the edge for delivery “via tin can air express.” Or about relieving himself into a paper bag in what he thought was a privacy of height on El Cap, only to notice the large crowd gathered below him, with something glinting among them. Wayne wondered if it was a telescope. He waved. Sure enough, they all waved back.

“We were rich beyond our wildest dreams, but we didn’t know it,” he wrote about that climb for the award-winning book Yosemite in the Fifties. “It was a time of testing, of experimenting, of discovering limits. It was a golden time.” The truth is that Wayne never stopped testing, experimenting or discovering limits, and always in new directions, both on the land and in language. He wrote a series of warmly satirical short stories about a somewhat fictionalized town called Fort McGary, “in which a newly formed volunteer fire department gives a remote northern settlement something to talk about.” He took to penning tankas, a classical form of Japanese poetry akin to haiku, only with five lines: “all is white at dawn / new snow muffles earth and sound / turn from the window/ sense the skis in the rafters / waiting for that first long glide.” He learned to be a lynx, or at least stalk like one, to get a better look at birds in his backyard, such as a pair of white-crowned sparrows. “I very slowly reached out a finger to touch a tail—almost made it—but about two inches away the light dawned and they took off. I could easily have grabbed one of them. Hope they learned something.”

When I first moved to Atlin, Wayne and I went mountain biking to scout some trails easy enough for my partner, a singletrack rookie, to ride. He was 82, and I could barely keep pace. Six years later, age caught up with him seemingly overnight, and this time bushytailed woodrats weren’t to blame. Instead, prostate cancer was. He’d managed the illness for a few years until a round of chemotherapy in the summer of 2019 knocked him down. Shortly after, he ended up in the hospital for pain management. When we visited he was pale and fragile, but full of dignity and impish as ever. At one point he casually tugged on a red cord beside the bed. “What’s that do?” Cindy asked him. “It’s the fire alarm!” Wayne said, and until he grinned, we believed him. The fleece scarf he wore in the hospital bed made it seem like he had a passing cold, like he’d be home and himself again in no time. He did come home, but to another hospital bed. It was set up in the living room next to a window, so Wayne could see the raven who kept flying by and peering in.

Atlin is a community held together by small gestures under big skies. As word spread, the Merrys’ freezer filled up with pot pies. Friends of all ages dropped by and drove up and flew in to see Wayne. Visitors were so frequent that Cindy occasionally had to hang a “please come back later” sign on the front door in order to catch her breath. Wayne slept a lot in those last weeks, but his fingers stayed awake, tapping and reaching out as if playing the trombone—an earlier passion of his—or testing the holds on a climb. He spoke in monosyllables that were increasingly hard to make out. On one visit I mentioned that I’d been stacking firewood. He responded with something I didn’t at first understand: pitch. When I looked confused, he gestured at my arm and repeated himself. Sure enough, there was sap on my sleeve. He looked as though he had more to say, maybe about the simple pleasures of stacking wood, or perhaps he had a joke to share. For a man who loved words, this inability to express himself must have been agonizing. Still, he managed to convey what mattered. At one point, when Wayne seemed to be dozing, Cindy went to his side and took his face in her hands. He opened his eyes, looked up at his wife of sixty-one years and tenderly pinched her nose.

In autumn of 1975, not long after the Merrys decamped from California, a documentary crew came to Atlin to find out why Wayne had given up a prestigious career and steady paycheck to move to what the film’s narrator called “a hinterland.” I didn’t see the film until after Wayne’s death, when Cindy dug it out of the basement and screened it for a few friends. We watched it after a dinner that included some potatoes and carrots Wayne had planted in the spring. The film was a time capsule of their early life in Atlin: Cindy tending an abundance of green in the garden; Kendall and Scott, their kids, hauling water in buckets from the lake; a young Wayne falling and bucking pine trees, his plaid shirt no doubt tacky and fragrant with pitch. He paused in his work to watch some chickadees. Beyond the vegetables they grew, the fish they caught, the moose they took each year, and the fine company they kept in Atlin—human and wildlife both—there wasn’t much else for them to need. What a golden time, a golden life, to want only what you have, and to give so much of that away. To see birds alighting on a branch as wealth enough, world enough. To live by the glow of lanterns until the light goes out, or better yet, to pass the light on.

—Kate Harris

Excerpt from:

The Town Where Everyone Knows Your Dog’s Name Soon to be published, by author Bradford Smith

As a Young lad I had a love hate relationship with Our Old House, one that corresponded directly with the time of day or night. Although regal and majestic in the daylight hours, Our Old House was spooky and daunting at night. Many kids avoided our street all together, choosing a more indirect but better lit path on their way home. Many were convinced it was inhabited by at least one, but more likely, many ghosts. My so-call friends loved to tell me Old Courthouse ghost stories every time they got a chance.

My mom continued to assure me that it was all jesting and wild imaginations. Of course, as soon as I would bring that up with my buddies, they instantly countered with the well-known fact that ghosts only haunt children and adults can’t even see them.

Coming home after dark was an epic and unrelenting battle, fought between me and that Old House.

Some may ask what a five or six year-old is doing out after dark in the first place. That was pretty normal for Atlin kids of the time, and besides, in the dead of winter it can be quite dark by four P.M. There was little to be worried about other than our over-active imaginations and frostbite. Even in the day light Our Old House was poorly lit and the shadows hid untold horrors.

Imagine, I’m five years old, it’s already dark out, and I’m late for dinner. I’m approaching the front steps.

There are street lights only at the intersections and the porch light is out again, as it’s hard to keep a bulb working at thirty below. I hustle up the darkened steps and pause at the old wooden double door.

Out here I’m fairly safe; I still have the option of jumping off the porch and fleeing down the street. It’s what’s on the other side of the door that’s got me worried. Compelled forward by the threat of another spanking for being late, again, I slowly open the door a crack and take a quick peek inside. There’s one light just inside the door and thankfully another on the landing halfway up the stairs. Lone naked bulbs, suspended on long cords, somber beacons of protection, that offer some solace, although at times they only expose more frightening details better left cloaked in the gloom.

I quickly shut the door, only long enough to build some confidence, formulate a strategy and draw a few breaths. If I linger too long outside, where it’s safe, I may lose my nerve and possibly freeze to death.

Just inside the front door, on either side of the hallway, are two darkened, ominous portals leading into rooms filled with mummies, vampires and zombies. Now the trick at this point is to scurry through the front door and close it firmly. Making sure it latches, then sprint toward the stairs. Making sure the door latches is super important because no matter how far away she was, no matter what other sounds and noises there were at the time, my mom could always tell if I closed the door properly. Having to return down that gauntlet of horrors was unimaginable, after all, my only weapon was surprise, and with that taken away my goose was cooked.

Through the door I go, slamming it just right, so it latches on the first try. After a couple steps. I’m past the first two obstacles and accelerating down the endless hallway toward the bottom step, snow-laden boots offering little traction on the vintage linoleum floor. The stairway ascends on the right and the hallway continues on into a murky abyss of death and destruction on the left.

Also on my left, at the bottom of the stairs, looms another doorway, this one, of course, is Frankenstein’s monsters chamber and I’m positive I can hear him gnawing at the door and straining to break his chains. Out of the corner of my eye, as I sprint past, I can see the door bulge and shake. Now in full flight, completely aware of the werewolves snapping at my heels, their foul breath, hot on the back of my neck. I barely feel the steps under my feet.

I know you’re thinking, “Okay, he’s got it made now.” Oh how far from the truth could you be? Arriving at the landing where the stairs switch back the other way and reaching the other light, might seem like a good safe place to be, but that would be the wrong assumption. Remember when I said light, at times can only serve to expose further abominations? At the back of the landing there lurks another doorway.

This one is small and demure compared to the hulking, gateways to hell, downstairs. By all appearances this door is innocent, unless you know for certain the room behind that door is where they keep all the body parts. My friend Randy Green said he has it on good authority that it’s also where Bloody Bones. I wasn’t sure about that, as Bloody Bones seemed to live in a number of scary places around town, but I was sure about the body parts-after all where else would they keep them?

Flying across the landing, inappropriately named as nary a foot actually lands on it, as I speed past. Now it’s the final push. I pump my legs as fast as I can, convinced I smell the decaying stench of my beastly pursuers. Halfway up the second flight of stairs and above my head on the wall, is another small door.

This one opens into the eves. There is something about the smaller doors, that’s almost more sinister than their larger counterparts: It’s the fear of the unknown. Who or what uses such a small door?

Certainly not children-unless, that’s it, they are for children…that’s where they put the children, never to be seen again. Of course, that small smudge of dried, red paint is certainly the blood of an innocent child.

At last, crashing to an abrupt halt. I have arrived at the upstairs landing and a scant few seconds from safety, but still I am in the maw of danger and now facing four more doors. The door directly in front, leads into the warm and inviting living room, but is not to be used if you have wet, muddy or snowy clothes, or boots on. Thus, it is certainly never used by a five year old. The door on the right leads to Mom’s work shop. In the day time, while occupied, it’s a nice safe, cozy oasis, but at night with the lights off, it converts to a lair of monsters and ghouls, all fighting to see whom will drink the child’s blood. The scariest of the four doors is actually a hatch in the celling that closes the opening to the tower. At any second, screaming banshees with glowing red eyes and razor sharp talons are sure to descend upon my head, seize me and drag me into the horrifying recesses of the tower. My salvation is the door on the left that door leads to the kitchen. The room with the inviting smells and comforting arms of my mother, if I’m not late for dinner, that is. If I am, a banshee doesn’t sound that bad after all. I was pretty sure banshees did not wield wooden spoons.

The last couple of seconds, as I fumble to turn the knob with mitten-laden hands, is the worst. By now I am convinced the smallest of missteps, a fraction of a second wasted, will spell my ultimate demise. I’m afraid to look back but completely convinced all things hideous are queuing up behind me, waiting their turn to eviscerate me, and or eat my guts. It’s a tremendous relief to finally master the complicated doorknob and burst into the kitchen unscathed.

Although often berated for all the slamming, clomping and banging, it is wonderful to have successfully survived another trip through the bowels of Our Old House and easy to taunt the creatures with a silent Na, Na, Na.

Atlin BC, weather in November 1920 Daily Data Report for November Max Min Mean 1920 TempDefinition TempDefinition TempDefinition DAY °C °C °C 1 5.6 -0.6 2.5 2 5.6 3.3 4.5 3 3.3 1.7 2.5 4 1.1 -7.2 -3.1 5 7.8 -0.6 3.6 6 8.9 5 7 7 7.2 4.4 5.8 8 5 -4.4 0.3 9 5.6 -4.4 0.6 10 0 -6.1 -3.1 11 -3.9 -10.6 -7.3 12 -5.6 -6.7 -6.2 13 -5 -12.2 -8.6 14 -3.3 -13.3 -8.3 15 -7.2 -12.8 -10 16 -9.4 -15 -12.2 17 -3.9 -13.3 -8.6 18 -4.4 -6.7 -5.6 19 -1.7 -9.4 -5.6 20 2.2 -7.2 -2.5 21 -3.3 -6.1 -4.7 22 -7.8 -8.9 -8.4 23 -7.8 -12.2 -10 24 -10 -12.8 -11.4 25 -1.1 -10 -5.6 26 -2.2 -7.8 -5 27 -8.9 -11.7 -10.3 28 2.2 -10 -3.9 29 0 -0.6 -0.3 30 -2.8 -9.4 -6.1 Sum Avg -1.1 -6.9 -4 Xtrm 8.9 -15 Summary, average and extreme values are based on the data above.

Heat Deg DaysDefinition 15.5 13.5 15.5 21.1 14.4 11 12.2 17.7 17.4 21.1 25.3 24.2 26.6 26.3 28 30.2 26.6 23.6 23.6 20.5 22.7 26.4 28 29.4 23.6 23 28.3 21.9 18.3 24.1 660

Total RainDefinition mm 0.3 0.5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0.8

Total SnowDefinition cm 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 trace 0 2.5 0.8 trace 3.3 0 0 2.5 0 0 9.1

Pr

Atlin property for sale, corner of 3rd and Pearl Avenue In the middle of town but tucked away with very private backyard.

Accessible ski trail behind the house Fully fenced Flat, open ground 125 x 200 feet.

Interiors extensively renovated in 2009 Finished area 1050sqft One full bathroom, one outhouse Delivered Water Septic Tank and field, redone June 2020 Mainly wood heat with back up oil and electrical heating Arctic entrance 2 Bedrooms, open kitchen, dining and living area, Storage room with cedar wood infra-red sauna Large root cellar below storage room.

Oversized Garage, Ample parking. Large wood plus 2 additional storage sheds.

Established garden with big delicious domestic raspberry patch, 3 raised beds and greenhouse Includes all appliances and Ikea style furniture and more Our best price 299'000.inquiries at atlinhomeforsale2020@gmailcom

NORTHERN HOMES REAL ESTATE 2nd Street

Stunning custom built home featuring fabulous open floor plan with vaulted ceilings, 2 bedrooms, full bath a lift that takes you to the lower level with pantry, storage and a 16’x28’ heated shop with 10’ ceilings. R40 walls, R60 ceiling!

Private location with guest cabin included! $295,000 3rd Street Gold rush cabin on 33x100 lot plus a storage shed, right downtown. $59,700.

Warm Bay Road 12.4 acres with great mountain views, log home, several outbuildings and shop. Well on site. Off grid. Two titled lots. $195,000 SOLD Food Basket Thriving business in Atlin! The building, land, rental suite, and grocery store are all included. A great way for the whole family help make a comfortable living $300,000 plus stock 4th July Bay Half acre lakefront property with log home that has one BR on main level and 2 more in walk out lower level. Well, large garage, greenhouse and wood shed completes the package. $299,500 FIRM SOLD Trond Gulch In a pastoral setting, backing onto Munro Mtn, this one-bedroom, 715 sq.ft. off-the-grid home on 9.88 acres surrounded by Crown Land. Sauna and guest cabin. Was lived in year around for many years. Truly unique with perfection evident throughout! $350,000

Third Street 2 bedroom, bright home on a quiet 75x100 lot with a 24x40’ shop with 12’ ceilings. Some updating needed but most rooms are 15’+. Major foundation and roof work already done. $189,900 Atlin Highway 80 acres fronting onto the highway, off grid, with the most spectacular views in the area, Atlin Lake from Minto Mountain to Teresa Island! $350,000 4640 Warm Bay Road Fabulous 3 level home on 2.6 acres high above Warm Bay Road providing an incredible view of Atlin Lake. $240,000. SOLD 6th Street 320 sq.ft. cabin on 50x100 lot, no plumbing. “As is, where is” $45,000 SOLD Above asking First Street 2500 sq.ft. basement entry home with 4 bedrooms, 24x24’ garage, 60’ shed for wood, quads or whatever you need, very private 2 acres. $187,000 SOLD Wilson Street Quiet mountain views from this four-bedroom, 1600 sqft home on two acres. Open yard with raised beds and greenhouse. Where else can you find a kitchen like this at this price? Great value at $197,500 SOLD Call Myrna at (250) 775-1019

Leave message via text or email myrnablake1@gmail.com Go to northernhomesbc.ca for more details.

November Movies The Historic Globe Theatre

Distancing Rules in Effect If you are sick, been around someone who is sick or, have signed a declaration to quarantine the next 14 days please stay home

Sunday November 1: As Good As It Gets Doors Open 6:30

Show Time 7:00 – 9:30

Starring: Jack Nicholson, Helen Hunt, Greg Kinnear,

Rated PG Directed by James L. Brooks

Comedy: Melvin Udall, an obsessive-compulsive novelist has Manhattan’s meanest mouth.

When his neighbour is hospitalized, this forced Melvin to babysit the dog, That unexpected act of kindness, helps Melvin back into the human race.

Sunday November 8: Rocketman: Elton John Doors Open 6:30

Show Time 7:00 – 9:00

Starring: Taron Egerton, Jamie Bell, Richard Madden, Fletcher

Rated PG Directed by Dexter

Biographical Musical: Based on the life of British musician Elton John. The film follows John in his early days in England as a prodigy at the Royal Academy of Music through his musical partnership with Taupin, and is titled after John's 1972 song "Rocket Man".

Admission Donation Concession items marked All proceeds go towards enhancing Theatre Assets Facebook: @ExploreAtlin Email: exploreatlin@gmail.com Presented by Heather Keny

ATLIN BC – BOULDER CREEK PLACER LEASES FOR SALE For sale are two Placer Leases on Boulder Creek located about 17 kilometers northeast of Atlin.

Title Number 636524 – Map Reference: 104N063 totaling 30.89 hectares Asking Can $45,000 and Title Number 636525 – Map References 104N063 & 104N064 totaling 46.13 hectares Asking Can $140,000 Boulder Creek is quite well known in the placer mining world.

The term of those placer leases is 10 years beginning on September 18, 2019.

The work permit is current until March 31, 2021 The buyer will assume any outstanding reclamation obligation.

The buyer will be responsible for replacing our bond with theirs.

Contact: Richard Tillberg Ph: (780) 369-2299 Email: tillbe328@gmail.com

Kinosew Trading Company inc.

Fresh Sockeye Salmon $7.95Lb Fresh Coho Salmon $7.00Lb Open Friday-Saturday-Sunday 12pm to 5pm Or Stop by if we are there, we are open !

Located Atlin Airport 250-651-0042

TAKU WILD is in no way affiliated with “Wild Taku” Atlin Health Centre Box 330, Atlin, B.C. V0W 1A0 (P): 250-651-7677 (F): 250-651-7687 www.northernhealth.ca

````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````` IN RESPONSE TO THE COVID-19 VIRUS If you are experiencing symptoms of the cold or influenza or have questions about COVID-19 please call the Northern Health COVID-19 information line @ 1-844-645-7811.

They will provide you with the necessary information and direction.

The directive is still for people to stay home, self-isolate and practice the recommended hand washing procedures.

At this time we are asking all clients to please call 250-651-7677 prior to coming to the Health Centre for any reason at any time.

HOURS OF OPERATION Open Monday through Friday 9:00 – 12:00 pm & 1:00 - 4:30 pm.

For emergencies a nurse is on call after hours and on the weekends and can be reached at 250-651-7677.

We have also implemented front door screening procedures at the Health Centre in response to the Pandemic.

Pick up the black telephone to your right at the front door; one of the staff will answer the phone inside and you will be screened for cold/flu, respiratory symptoms prior to entering the building.

The phone is cleaned and sanitized after each use The Atlin Health Centre staff wish to thank-you for your cooperation in keeping our community safe and virus free.

Big Water Society We are still providing free counselling during this time As the community is aware, the way everyone is conducting business lately is shifting.

Sometimes life can stress us out or make us anxious, particularly during this pandemic and the way it has disrupted many of the ways we enjoy our lives, jobs, and relationships with friends and family.

Free mental health counselling will continue to be offered in a safe and positive way by Big Water Society and our counsellor Jan Forde (MSW, RSW) who will provide remote counselling service for the time being.

Jan will be providing counselling via phone every Thursday of the week from between 9am5pm.

Please feel free to call and leave Jan a message at office Ph: 250-651-2189 0r cell Ph: 867-3336829 Or email bannyforde@gmail.com to leave a message to book a time for Thursdays with her via phone.

We hope everyone stays healthy and happy, we will get through this _____________________________________________________________________________

Help Us Stop the Spread of COVID-19 Book an appointment at appointments.servicebc.gov.bc.ca Or call

Atlin Service BC 250 651-7595

9:00am – 12:00pm – Open to the public (by appointment or walk ins) 12:00pm – 1:00pm – Closed for lunch 1:00pm – 4:30pm – Open to the public (by appointment or walk ins).

Appointments recommended for Driver’s Licence Knowledge testing, seniors and those with compromised immune systems. **Between 10:30 - 10:45 & 2:30 – 2:45 we are closed for sanitation and cleaning For non-health-related questions, please contact: 1-888-COVID19.

If you think you may have the virus, call HealthLink at 811 to determine if you need testing; or, visit the HealthLink website at: www.healthlinkbc.ca/health-feature/coronavirus-covid-19

Fishing Charters

SVOP Licence, 24 ft. Boat, Transport Canada Commercial Registration – Insured Gary Hill, Atlin B.C. V0W 1A0 Licensed, B.C. Guide Call -250 651-7553 Email garyphill59@gmail.com $850.00 per day - $550.00 per 1/2 day

Sewing Machine

Atlin Community

Cleaning, Repair, & Setup

Open Every

Library

Friday and Saturday 2-4p.m.

Terry 250 651-7769

Everyone Welcome

Custom Fish Art- Fiberglas and Wood GARY HILL’S FISH ART

GARY HILL’S – CUSTOM, FISH REPRODUCTIONS PHONE 250 651 7553 EMAIL – garyphill59@gmail.com 7 MONARCH Drive – ATLIN – BC. V0W 1A0 WEB SITE – http://gary-hill.com

St. Martin’s Anglican Church 10 a.m.

Sunday Everyone Welcome

Atlin Christian Centre

Affiliated with the Pentecostal Assemblies of Canada Services Sunday 11: a.m.

Come join us!

(778) 721-0710

Although Covid slowed the bookings, Linda lands best one again this season Gary Hill

To worship rightly is to love each other, Each smile a hymn, Each kindly deed a prayer.

John Greenleaf Whittier

Please note that calls for same day water delivery service must be received no later than 11 a.m. of said day. Thank you!

Heating Oil delivery available

Delivery days are Monday through Friday Our mailing address is Box 318, Atlin BC V0W 1A0 You can also email us at grizzlyhomeservices@gmail.com 250-651-7463

With thanks, Dana and Mary Hammond

“Fairy Dust” Imagine when you close your eyes And fairy dust puts you asleep All snuggled up with dreams you wish to keep.

Imagine when you’re in that world Of adding color everywhere So all you see will sparkle fresh and fair.

Imagine when you’re in that world With air so fresh and water sweet And everything that makes your life complete.

Imagine when you’re in that dream And see the world as it could be With lasting peace on earth where all are free.

Jeff Salmon

MOBILE WELDING SERVICE AVAILABLE Contact: Alain Vanier 250-651-0037

Reasonable Rates!

DOG WALKER AVAILABLE $20.00 per hour Call Katherine 250-651-7705

Sincerely Yours General Store & Canada Post Location OPEN Monday to Friday 10am – 5pm Closed for lunch 12:30 – 1:30 CLOSED weekends and Statutory Holidays

The next Whisper is Wednesday November 11th.

Submissions are due no later than Sunday 9pm November 8th .

Compiled and edited by Lynne Phipps. Paper for printing courtesy of Northern Homes Real Estate Printing courtesy of RCMP Atlin; Ink costs courtesy of Literacy Now. Classifieds, news, upcoming events Contact 1-250-651-7861 or lynnephipps@hotmail.com if you have, pictures or articles you would like to submit.

Please note that submissions should be sent in either WORD or JPEG whenever possible. PDF must first be printed and then scanned back into the computer in order to format it into the paper. This costs in both paper and ink. We know that at times a PDF is the only way, which is okay when necessary, but otherwise, as the Whisper is a FREE community service we appreciate your support in helping to keep the costs down as much as possible. Thank You!