The oldest joke in Alaska: The giant ice worms of northern legend

Part of a continuing weekly series on Alaska history by local historian David Reamer. Have a question about Anchorage or Alaska history or an idea for a future article? Go to the form at the bottom of this story.

“And now,” continued Deacon White to blushing Major Brown, “Behold assembled the eelight and cream of Dawson Town, And one ambition fills their hearts and makes their bosoms glow — They want to make you, honoured sir, a bony feed Sourdough. The same, some say, is one who’s seen the Yukon ice go out, But most profound authorities the definition doubt, And to the genial notion of this meeting, Major Brown, A Sourdough is a guy who drinks ... an ice-worm cocktail down.”

Robert Service (1874-1958) published the “The Ballad of the Ice-Worm Cocktail” in 1940, but like much of his work, the subject derives from his experiences in western Canada decades earlier, before, during and after the Klondike Gold Rush. The poet, famous for “The Shooting of Dan McGrew” and “The Cremation of Sam McGee,” worked at a number of jobs, writing and clerking his way across British Columbia and Yukon Territory. And all along these journeys, he acted as a sponge, absorbing the rough and colorful working-class anecdotes.

In “The Ballad of the Ice-Worm Cocktail,” a cheechako hunter, Major Percy Brown, visits the Yukon on his first trip north. His exploits in Africa and Australia fail to impress the hard-bitten sourdoughs surrounding him at a Dawson. With his ego and pride on the line, he leaps at the opportunity to prove himself.

“By Gad!” responded Major Brown, “that’s ripping, don’t you know. I’ve always felt I’d like to be a certified Sourdough. And though I haven’t any doubt your Winter’s awf’ly nice, Mayfair, I fear, may miss me ere the break-up of your ice. Yet (pray excuse my ignorance of matters such as these) A cocktail I can understand — but what’s an ice-worm, please?”

There are two types of ice worms, the real and the fictional. The real ice worms are found burrowed into glaciers, often surfacing at night. In a biological sense, they are fascinating oddities that melt above 40 degrees Fahrenheit but survive entombed in ice. In striking difference from the ones of legend, the real ice worms are wispy thin and short, often about a half-inch long and too small for a fish hook. However, the fictional ice worms are far thicker and longer. In the same poem, Service says, “some attain six inches by the melting of the snow,” but other writers claimed examples measuring several feet long.

The concept of the larger, fictional ice worm predates the Klondike Gold Rush and may not have originated in Canada at all. In 1890, a colorful story about ice worms circled American newspapers across the country. Amidst complaints about other pests, a Rochester, New York, woman describes the previous year’s ice harvest that was carved up and wrecked by massive ice worms. One chunk of ice was cracked open to reveal “a wriggling mass of long black worms as thick as my finger and anywhere from six inches to a foot long.”

Well over a century later, the reader can almost see the anonymous author’s tongue firmly placed in their cheek and imagine them laughing as they wrote. The biggest giveaway comes near the end when the purported woman says ice worms “are harmless and can be tamed and taught many tricks, and thus they afford endless amusement for the children.” In the way of tall tales and legends, this article likely evolved from predecessors and oral traditions, all the way back to a long-lost and now indeterminable origin.

Said Deacon White: “It is not strange that you should fail to know, Since ice-worms are peculiar to the Mountain of Blue Snow. Within the Polar rim it rears, a solitary peak, And in the smoke of early Spring (a spectacle unique) Like flame it leaps upon the sight and thrills you through and through, For though its cone is piercing white, its base is blazing blue. Yet all is clear as you draw near — for coyly peering out Are hosts and hosts of tiny worms, each indigo of snout.

Journalists like Elmer “Stroller” White popularized the ice worms and firmly fixed them within the Klondike and Alaska mythos. Wrote White, “Every winter the old sourdoughs would take their ice picks and gather at the river for the iceworm harvest. Frying them in flour batter, with strips of crisp bacon, was the common method of sorting them. The London Society of Research sent savants to secure specimens.”

Around the time of Service’s tenure in western Canada, ice worms were also humorously blamed for the disappearance of ice at the end of winter. A 1905 Lillooet, British Columbia, newspaper notes, “But blime me, they say that no matter how thick the ice is in the fall the bloomy worms eat it all up before spring.” However, here the greatest innovation with the legend was to transform it into the centerpiece of an initiation rite, the northern equivalent of a snipe hunt.

Their bellies were a bilious blue, their eyes a bulbous red; Their back were grey, and gross were they, and hideous of head. And when with gusto and a fork the barman speared one out, It must have gone four inches from its tail-tip to its snout.

Major Brown’s confidence wilted upon the sight of the “hideous” worms. “You can’t bluff me,” he declared, “You’ll never drink that ghastly thing.” To his horrified surprise, two sourdoughs tossed back ice-worm cocktails with no concerns and even licked their lips when done. With the crowd egging him on, Brown closed his eyes and shakily drank his cocktail. Pallid and sweaty, he ran out the door and disappeared into the night. The poem concludes with the twist:

And ere next night his story was the talk of Dawson Town, But gone and reft of glory was the wrathful Major Brown; For that ice-worm (so they told him) of such formidable size Was — a stick of stained spaghetti with two red ink spots for eyes.

Just as Service did not create the legend of the ice worm, he also did not invent the ice worm cocktail. He merely adopted the lore and profited greatly from the transaction. Though never a critical darling, he was prolific and popular, earning enough wealth from writing to travel the globe and live a life of luxury in California, Paris and the French Riviera. He was a significant celebrity, famous enough to play himself in the 1942 version of “The Spoilers,” a film about the Nome Gold Rush.

A 1906 Dawson Daily News article was likely one of many inspirations for his version of the ice worm story. The basics of the narrative are similar. A stuffy Englishman visited Dawson and bragged about the quality of English ale. The amused sourdoughs encouraged the Englishman to try the local brew, an ice worm cocktail. The newcomer said, “That sounds snaky. I think I would rather have some rattlesnake on toast.”

Undeterred, the locals escorted him to a bar where they ordered three ice worm cocktails. Well accustomed and prepared for the gag, the bartender produced a chunk of ice riddled with several “long, fat, thick and luscious” worms. When the visitor hesitated, his companions assured him, “Drink that! Why that’s where you get your money’s worth. That’s where you put the real elixir that makes hair sprout on every bald head in Klondike and put the glow of youth on every cheek.”

Determined to represent his homeland proudly, he gulped it down and ordered another round. Finally, he proudly left the bar, eager to share the story of his survival. However, a small boy ran up and informed him, “Mister that’s no ice worm in ice; that’s only spaghetti put into a gimlet hole in the ice, and allowed to swell.” The story ends with a stubborn tourist unwilling to admit he was duped. “Nevertheless, the Englishman knows and swears that the ice worm is the real live thing, but that the small boy in the Yukon too rudely suggests a cruel joke in matters that are serious and only pertain to gentleman.”

The tall tales of the ice worm respected no national borders and were quickly adopted in Alaska. By 1924, “the ice worm fable” was the “oldest joke we can remember here in Alaska,” per the Anchorage Daily Times. The author added, “Dave Terwilliger used to have a small section of spaghetti frozen in a block of ice, which he would keep in cold storage on the boats, while traveling. Tourists who doubted the ice-worm tale would be shown the ice and the ‘worms,’ and then everybody would be happy.”

Experienced Alaska miners were also sometimes called ice worms. Straightforward enough, they dug in the often-frozen ground, like the supposed ice worms.

Throughout the first half of the 20th century, there were ice worm wiggle dances, ice worm lying competitions, ice worm-themed variety shows on the radio, and faked ice worm pictures used as postcards. During cold snaps, people joked about improved ice worm harvests. Fundraisers, parties and other social events frequently advertised the availability of ice worm cocktails on their menus.

In the latter half of the 20th century, there have been plush ice worms and toy ice worms in a can. There were songs like “The Ice Worm Boogie” released by Doug Lewis in the early 1950s. The Portage Glacier Lodge sold tokens “Good for one ice worm cocktail at our gold rush bar.” The annual Cordova Iceworm Festival began in 1961. By now, the legends of giant glacier worms have become so entrenched in Alaska that the existence of the real ice worms has repeatedly surprised even longtime Alaskans. Long may this historical streak of humor survive.

Key sources:

“The Busy Ice-Worm.” Lebanon Express [Oregon], January 17, 1890, 5.

White, E. J. “Early Day Journalism and Journalism in Alaska and Yukon.” [Juneau] Alaska Daily Empire, September 25, 1916, 8.

Gates, Michael. “Origin of the Ballad of the Ice-Worm Cocktail Uncovered.” Yukon News, August 24, 2017.

Mallory, Enid. Robert Service: Under the Spell of the Yukon, 2nd edition. Victoria, Canada: Heritage House Publishing, 2009.

“Mercury Takes Drop, Assuring Ice Worm Crop.” Anchorage Daily Times, December 21, 1934, 1.

Service, Robert. Bar-Room Ballads: A Book of Verse. London: Ernest Benn Limited, 1940.

“That Old Ice Worm Joke Sure Fooled the Tourists, Didn’t It?” Anchorage Daily Times, February 27, 1942, 6.

“A Typical Dawson City.” [Lillooet, Canada] The Prospector, September 7, 1905, 3.