Albert Johnson was the first celebrity fugitive of the North.
Did he really die that frigid February day?
This year, 2002, marks the 70th anniversary of the North’s most infamous manhunt, for the Mad Trapper of Rat River. The saga started when a man calling himself Albert Johnson shot and wounded an RCMP officer in late December 1931 near Fort McPherson, NWT. It ended in a hailstorm of bullets in February after a posse chased him over the Mackenzie Mountains into the Yukon. His body was taken to Aklavik, whose cemetery now holds his remains. Or does it? Did the Mounties get their man after all? Fort Smith writer Jim Green posits a different story.
The November 17, 1977 issue of the Nome Nugget carried a small obituary on the bottom of pae 11: “Alfred Jackson was found in his bed by neighbors who noticed no smoke from the stovepipe of his shack on Willow Flats. Known to be a quiet man who kept to himself, Jackson ran a trapline for many winters and worked part time at the fish plant in season. He was believed to have been about 80 years of age. Mr. Jackson had no known relatives,”
An acquaintance gathered up Jackson’s meager possessions. He found an Amoco wall calendar with penciled notes painstakingly printed on the back of the pages. He read on:
I reckon this is pertnear gonna be my last chance to fess up so here goes. I come to this country to get away. I never wanted no trouble ever in my life again. I wanted to be alone. To be left alone. I had a bellyful of people. I never meant to shoot that Cop. I never wanted to shoot nobody.
By the time I was 22 years old, I’d been locked up all over the States – Lincoln County Jail, Wyoming State Penn, Sheridan County Jail, and San Quentin. I’ll tell you I had it with Cops and lockups.
I ain’t saying I didn’t deserve some of the jail time for the stupid things I done. I’m saying I had enough of that and wanted a new life. Figured I couldn’t get into much trouble on my own. Turned out, I was dead wrong on that one.
It took me a few years to work my way north from California but I got her done. Built my cabin on the Rat River and was set to trap the winter. Then that Cop came hammering on my door. He went away after awhile, and then he come back. I never meant to shoot him [Constable Alfred King]. Didn’t want no trouble. Fired a warning shot through the side of the door. Bang. Down he went. Then they all pulled out and they come back again. More of’em. Banging away at me from all directions. All day and half the night. I could have shot the lot of them. They blasted the roof down on top of me with dynamite. Then blew up the whole dang cabin with me under the bunk. They left again. I hightailed it in a blizzard.
They found my trail. Dogged me pretty steady day after day. Hard getting enough to eat with snares. Small fire. Shot one caribou. Kep running. Back tracking. Circling back to check on them. Running. Cold.
I didn’t mean to kill nobody. That other Cop [Constable Edgar Millen] was set to nail me when I dropped him. Got him before he got me. Plain and simple. Ran again.
The pass through the mountains was a tough go. Like to froze up there. But I made it. Then they brought in that aeroplane and more Cops from the other side. Had me going for awhile there. Allas running. Hungry alla time. Never been so cold.
I got lucky on Eagle River. Found two men camped on a caribou trail. Snuck into camp and traded my snowshoes for skis. I figured they musta split up the next day. Them Indians with the Cops were following my snowshoe tacks and they caught him [trapper Phil Barnstrum] on the river. Blew him away. After that, I was home free.
I never heard if the Cops knew they shot the wrong man or not. If they did, you bet they weren’t saying nuthing. I got clean away. Kep moving. Made it downriver to Alaska the next summer. Back in 1932, that was. Been here ever since. I allas felt bad about the men I shot and the trapper they killed but that was the way it was.
– John Johnson
Albert Johnson, the “Mad Trpper of Rat River,” was born John Konrad Jansen on July 13, 1898, in Bardo, Norway. He grew up Johnny Johnson in South Dakota. Albert was but one of several aliases.
excerpt from Up Here, March 2002