Atlin Where Everyone Knows Your Dog's Name, by Bradford D. Smith

"...life was a perpetual adventure," write author Bradford Smith, "an astonishing journey that most of us were not aware we were taking."

He's writing of his own life, one where he spent his growing years in Atlin, British Columbia. Isolated and difficult to reach, Arlin was both a wilderness community and his playground. His story is one part personal nostalgia for a far more simple life, at least in the eyes of his then young eyes, part history, and fully charming and intriguing. Living in Alaska myself, although I've never made it to Atlin, I've been to nearby Skagway and even Juneau, Alaska. I chuckled reading that Smith's family moved from Juneau to Atlin because, well, the population then about 5,000 then in Juneau made it just too crowded. I've taken that ferry to Haines that he mentions, too, and cannot imagine doing the trip in what was surely a far slower, less comfortable ferry of the times with all their personal belongings. Just as living in remote Alaska today, more than one trip was needed, too. I'm actually pretty sure some residents of remote Alaska and the Canadian wilds today would nod their heads sagely and say, "Yep, ain't improved much."

I won't detail Smith's adventures and misadventures as they are many and varied. His days were full of fun like fishing and hunting, yes, but hard work, too, work that didn't always feel like work because, well, they had fun doing it. Well, some of it. Even living in Alaska today where friends harvest moose and wild game to get them through out long winters, I know how hard just that task alone can be. Imagine hauling not just food animals you've trapped or killed for long distances without mechanical means, but wood, water, and doing it regularly, not just occasionally. One of the saving graces was perhaps the abundance of dogs, mostly huskies and Malamutes, in Smith's life. Mushing isn't as much a sport for some as a way of life, a way of getting food and supplies to the table and Smith lived that life. It was a small, close-knit community and everyone helped each other, too. It was a hard life but one full of fun, amazing sights and sounds, adventure, and people who, yes, knew your dogs' names. 

More importantly, Smith saw it as a wonderful adventure, a time where he lived rather than just existed. "I have attempted to depict and  explain a time, a place and a sense of community.... I chose to tell my story in a bright light, understanding every community has darkness..." In other words, he knows he's being nostalgic. I mean, how else can you look back on the experience of having a father put you on his shoulders and then climb tall ladders or poles with you clinging to him without thinking twice about it. 

Finally, a real plus to this book are the additions of excerpts by Smith's mother, Diane Solie Smith. I wish I'd known her. Much of the history of Atlin available today may be through her efforts as a historian and writer of several books. Kudos to Bradford Smith for giving his mother her due and including her thoughts and insights. She died in 2003 and is buried with her last dog on a hill overlooking the town that once hosted her wild flower garden. The dog's name was Willow. 

Thank you #NetGalley and #FathomPublishing for introducing me to this wonderful book. I've shared it with friends including one who lives part time in, yes, Atlin.