In 1897 a grimy steamer docked in Seattle and set into epic motion the
incredible succession of events that Pierre Berton's exhilarating The
Klondike Fever chronicles in all its splendid and astonishing folly. For
the steamer Portland bore two tons of pure Klondike gold. And
immediately, the stampede north to Alaska began. Easily as many as
100,000 adventurers, dreamers, and would-be miners from all over the
world struck out for the remote, isolated gold fields in the Klondike
Valley, most of them in total ignorance of the long, harsh Alaskan
winters and the territory's indomitable terrain. Less than a third of
that number would complete the enormously arduous mountain journey to
their destination. Some would strike gold. Berton's story belongs less
to the few who would make their fortunes than to the many swept up in
the gold mania, to often unfortunate effects and tragic ends. It is a
story of cold skies and avalanches, of con men and gamblers and dance
hall girls, of sunken ships, of suicides, of dead horses and desperate
men, of grizzly old miners and millionaires, of the land -- its
exploitation and revenge. It is a story of the human capacity to dream,
and to endure.