John Thompson

Bones discovered in Yukon tell tale of Klondike justice

Three Klondike killers have been unearthed in Dawson City.

On Nov. 4, a backhoe operator peered into the pit he was digging for the new sewage treatment plant and saw bones tumbling from the side of the hole. Human bones.

Three coffins were unearthed in a hurried, two-day dig. Historians agree they almost certainly contain the remains of convicts executed by the North-West Mounted Police during the fabled Klondike gold rush.

Their crimes occurred at a time when Canada’s northern sovereignty was reinforced with a hangman’s noose.

Affordable housing money lined politicos’ pockets

Nearly $3 million earmarked for affordable housing in Watson Lake appears to have been spent by Liard First Nation on acquiring three hotels, instead.

The First Nation justified the deal, made in June of 2007, by promising to convert part of one hotel into affordable housing for its members.

But, more than two years later, this hasn’t happened.

This raises big questions about the administration of the federal Northern Housing Trust program, which provided Yukon with a total of $50 million between 2006 and 2008.

Stuck with $20,000 medevac bill, man needs a hand, gets a kick

Sheldon Miller owes the territory $20,000 for a medical evacuation that doctors, nurses and administrators assured him he would not have to pay.

This is plainly unfair, Yukon’s ombudsman found after conducting a lengthy review of the matter. She’s repeatedly asked Yukon’s health department to forgive Miller’s debt.

It won’t.

Meet Yukon’s tiniest musicians

Ben Schonewille holds a songbird like a cigarette.

The bird in question is about the length of a cigarette, too. It’s a Ruby-crown Kinglet, one of North America’s smallest birds.

Its inquisitive head pokes out between Schonewille’s index and middle fingers as he carefully loops a tiny aluminum band around one leg.

Each movement is gentle and deliberate. Schonewille’s spent years learning how to handle songbirds in such a way as to not harm the fragile critters. The bird doesn’t stir.

Last call for Iqaluit’s boozy misfit magnet

“It’s done. It’s gone, it’s finished, it’s over with.”

The Kamotiq Inn was the dirtiest, greasiest, booziest restaurant in Iqaluit. After 28 years of service, it closed Thursday, May 8, apparently for good.

It will be missed.

It was one of the few places where poor families could eat out. Food was, as far as Iqaluit goes, cheap, with meals under $15.

It also enjoyed a reputation for letting customers drink the afternoon away at a table with an untouched plate of food. The broken blood vessels on the noses of prominent lawyers and politicians likely owe a great deal to the establishment.

And it was a magnet for misfits, of which there are many in this town, who could come in, no matter their dress or appearance, and feel at ease.

One small city's big language divide

If you speak only Inuktitut in Iqaluit, visiting a pharmacy could be life-threatening

To understand the importance of Nunavut’s draft language laws, look no further than the pharmacy in Iqaluit’s NorthMart.

There, elders who are unable to speak much English try to comprehend instructions, which may be of life-or-death importance, given by non-Inuit pharmacists, who resort to hand gestures and crude drawings while dispensing drugs.

No Inuit work behind the counter. No Inuktitut labels or instructions are provided. If elders don’t understand the well-meaning pharmacists, and are unaccompanied by family, their only hope may be that a passing shopper stops and helps.

It’s just one of many bewildering experiences that elders must encounter routinely in Nunavut, which English speakers may need to travel overseas to understand.

No joy in Trashville

What’s the difference between Nunavut’s capital and a garbage dump? Not much.

Akeego Ekho, a 40-year-old grandmother, stands by the litter-clogged creek between the public health building and her home. For the past 16 years she’s pulled on her gumboots and waded in to clean up. In return, she says neighbours give her weird looks. When she asks why they don’t help, some even swear at her.

Plastic bags, coffee cups and blocks of styrofoam bob up and down in a river beside the expansion of the Baffin Regional Hospital. Garbage that washes into the bay either returns to shore or becomes swept out of sight by powerful tides, until it’s found in the stomachs of birds and marine animals that mistook the trash for food.

You can find dirty diapers on Iqaluit’s streets, mixed with plastic bottles, cigarette butts and other trash. Would you rather walk the streets of Iqaluit, or tour the landfill? It’s not much of a choice. This Environment Week, the capital of Nunavut looks like one big, sprawling dump.

Life in the passing-out lane

Jean-Eudes Roy puts up with people who fight, urinate, vomit and pass out in his car. He earns $5 a trip.

Everyone has an ugly side. Jean-Eudes Roy’s job is to drive it home.

It’s approaching 11 on a Saturday night in Iqaluit, and Roy is one of many taxi drivers wheeling through the city’s streets, running residents to parties and bars.

Two young men climb in, bound for the Storehouse Bar. One reaches forward to shake Roy’s hand, wishing him a Happy New Year three weeks late. You can already smell beer on his breath.

“They’re very nice right now,” Roy says after dropping the men off. “When we pick them up in two hours, we need to be very careful.”