Sourtoe cocktail: A boozy challenge involving human remains

The Sourtoe Cocktail, named after the homophonous nickname ‘sourdough’ given to veteran settlers of Alaska and the Yukon, is the specialty of the house at the Downtown Hotel in the historic City of Dawson.

Once the Yukon Territory’s thriving hub during the Klondike Gold Rush of 1898, Dawson City was one of the richest towns in North America; so populated with wealthy gold miners, it was dubbed the ‘Paris of the North’ for its vibrant community. Amidst its general stores and casino were rags-to-riches characters who might have gone from being labeled ‘crazy’ to ‘eccentric’ after striking it big.

“You can drink it fast, you can drink it slow—but the lips have gotta touch the toe,” goes the club’s rules.

Nevertheless, the kooky idea to put a human toe in an alcoholic beverage didn’t come about until 75 years later, decades after Dawson City’s status as a gold prospector’s xanadu fell as fast as it rose. In 1973, sourdough Captain Dick Stevenson found the decades-old big toe of deceased prospector/rum runner Louie Liken, which had been frostbitten, amputated, and preserved in a jar.

It was Stevenson who repurposed his find at the local saloon, daring people to drink their booze of choice—80 percent proof or higher, these days—with the toe inside the glass. The idea was so crazy that it developed a cult following—alcohol undoubtedly being a motivator—thus spawning The Sourtoe Cocktail Club.

“You can drink it fast, you can drink it slow—but the lips have gotta touch the toe,” goes the club’s rules.

Over the decades, anyone who completed the dare was initiated into the club, and today the member registration tally in the guestbook is over 70,000—a figure that continues to grow as Dawson City’s old west charm attracts more tourists. The former epicenter of 19th-century prospectors now serves as a hub of restaurants and accommodations for Gold Rush history tourists—a trend popularized by modern gold rush reality shows showing off the prospectors of today who are still active in the region.

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It was finally my turn to attempt initiation of the Sourtoe Cocktail Club after waiting in a queue of a few daring people. I sat at a table on the side of the hotel bar, across from the ‘toe captain’ who took the shriveled, dark brown toe from a dish of salt—the preservative now used to store it.

The digit may have looked like any dark hunk of dried jerky, if not for the visibility of the actual toe nail. It might have looked more aged if it was the original toe of Prospector Liken, but this was just the latest toe in a series of several, due to the occasional misfortune of someone gulping down the toe with their drink.

As a deterrent for such an accident to happen again—spare toes are hard to come by—a fine was instated to impose upon anyone that swallowed the toe. Originally it was $500, but today it’s $2,500—ever since an unidentified American man passing through Dawson intentionally swallowed the toe in 2013, paid the fine upfront without any coercion, and walked out a legend.

As much as I was up for anything legendary, I wasn’t up for anything remotely cannibalistic, especially with the new hefty fine imposed. Kissing the toe—or ‘toeing the line’ as some have called it—was good enough for me. I put my drink of choice on the table—local spirit, Yukon Jack, a sort of cross between whisky and moonshine—and smacked my lips. The toe captain quickly dropped the salty toe in my glass and I gave myself no time to hesitate.

“Why do I keep ‘toeing the line?’ In a word, tradition. Even though quirky, it is a Yukon tradition.”

John Gailey, veteran club member

First, the rim of the glass touched my lips, and then the Yukon Jack. It gave my palate notes of molasses, rubbing alcohol, and… human toe. The severed digit slid from the bottom of the glass and touched my upper lip, and initiation was acquired.

It wasn’t as bad as I thought. Then again, I didn’t let that toe anywhere near my tongue.

Next up was sourdough local John Gailey, longtime Sourtoe Cocktail Club member and my guide on the John Hall’s Alaska Gold Rush tour I was on. He had done the Sourtoe Challenge many times before—and even claims to hold the record for most Sourtoe Cocktails in a night. An old veteran of the club, he did his shot, grabbed the toe with his teeth, and moved it around with his jaw to show off his courage—or perhaps eccentric Yukon spirit.

“Why do I keep ‘toeing the line?’” he said to me. “In a word, tradition. Even though quirky, it is a Yukon tradition.”

I walked away from Dawson City’s Downtown Hotel with a Sourtoe Certificate, proving my membership as the 68,188th person inducted. I was now a part of that tradition, proud albeit a little curious—just what does one drink as a chaser after gulping down a toe?