On a hot evening in July 1897, Portlanders packed the Ainsworth pier and bridge to witness a monumental event. The first steamship prepared to depart from Portland for the Klondike Gold Rush was crammed with 388 fortune seekers, all hoping they could strike it rich in the newly discovered gold fields of the Canadian Yukon.

Gold fever had reached epidemic proportions in Oregon and across the nation after the news that passengers returning on two steamships from Alaska had made their fortunes in the Klondike. When they arrived in Seattle and San Francisco hauling trunks, satchels, boxes, and even glass jelly jars filled with gold dust and nuggets, the stampede to the Yukon was on.

“According to the prevailing excitement, there is only one place on earth and that is the Klondike,” The Oregonian reported.

The Pacific Coast Steamship Co. announced two weeks later that it would begin scheduled sailings for the first time from Portland to Skagway, Alaska. The line of ticket seekers stretched down Southwest Third Street, and cabin and steerage class quickly sold out as did the extra berths hung in every available space onboard. Even passage for those willing to sleep on the floor of the ship’s “social hall” were taken.

Animated discussion about who had struck gold, the location of the most profitable mining claims, the best routes to the Yukon, and what supplies to bring was fueled by newspaper dispatches, personal accounts, and speculation.

J.M. Kepner, a former railroad agent turned prospector, hit paydirt in Alaska. “He now lives in the ease and elegance which he formerly envied in the railroad magnates who used to pass through,” said The Oregonian.

Jack Dodson, a star football player from Portland, also became wealthy. He returned to Oregon while 20 men continued to mine for him in the Yukon.

Ashlander James C. Tolman, who made $20,000 during the California gold rush in 1849, tried his luck again in the Klondike. “I saw two men come in from the mines who had worked two weeks and had 150 pounds of gold dust,” he said. “Men who never had $500 in their lives are now worth $150,000 to $200,000.”

Across the Pacific Northwest, people were preparing to head north. Portland City Councilman Leslie Peery took a leave from his position to join the exodus. The owner of the Banquet Restaurant downtown decided if he couldn’t sell his business for a good price so he could go to the Klondike, he would give it away.

Charles McDuffee trotted his 27 goats hitched to a sled down Southwest Morrison Street to train them for hauling freight up north. The team stretched nearly a block. Jacob Haas ran his pack of sled dogs through Willamette Heights.

When the mayor of Seattle heard the news of a gold strike, he was in San Francisco on business. Not bothering to come home, he resigned, bought his own ship, and headed to the gold fields.

Former Washington Gov. John McGraw also left as did half the streetcar motormen, who walked off their jobs to join the stampede. Proprietors had to raise wages to prevent more employees from leaving.

Local businesses competed for a piece of the lucrative market in supplies and provisions. Portland department store Lipman, Wolfe and Co. touted its rubber blankets, mackinaw coats, arctic socks, and heavy wool underwear “for the Alaska climate and Klondike work.”

G.P Rummelin & Sons advertised its “fully deodorized” fur-lined sleeping bags, and Dayton Hardware on First Street its three-inch drills for boring through frozen ground. A carpentry shop on Oak Street was overwhelmed with people wanting to purchase collapsible boats to go down the Yukon River.

When the Portland Tourism Bureau opened a free exhibit on the latest in arctic wear and canned food, the crowd blocked the sidewalk.

The Pacific Northwest had been hit hard by economic depression, and gold seekers sold whatever they could to raise funds. “Seaview cottage completely furnished with barn and two full lots -- party leaves on next boat for Klondike, must be sold in 48 hours,” read one advertisement. Two hundred acres of farmland were put up for sale in Southern Oregon. “Klondike Fever — we have it,” the advertisement read.

At the Portland dock, as the first steamship prepared to head north, 130 sweat soaked horses and mules for hauling mining supplies were hoisted up the side of the SS George W. Elder. Delivery wagons stacked high with sleds, whipsaws, camp stoves, saddles, lumber and even bicycles maneuvered their way through the throng. Over the yelping and howling of sled dogs, a regimental band played and boats on the Willamette River honked their horns.

“No such mighty crowd ever gathered before at a Portland dock to wish Godspeed to the voyagers for surely no such cargo of golden hopes ever sailed from this port,” wrote The Oregonian

At 11:10 p.m., four hours late, the steamship was ready to depart. As the gangplank was pulled up, the last ticket holder made a daring leap aboard. Giving several deafening blast of her whistle, the steamship moved slowly downriver for the eight-day journey north.

Her passengers couldn’t imagine the hardships that awaited them.

Friday: PERILOUS JOURNEY: The gateway to the gold field reached after deadly, daunting trek

Lynne Hasselman is a writer from southern Oregon.