How did the tiny Alaska village of Chicken get its name?

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.

One of the more beloved Alaska origin stories is how the tiny unincorporated village of Chicken got its name. Per a 1942 Anchorage Daily Times article, “When the old-timers first came into Chicken, so the story goes, the government gave them a post office and told them to name it. Because there were so many ptarmigans there, they decided to name it Ptarmigan. But when it came right down to it no one knew how to spell the word, so they said: ‘Oh, we might as well call it Chicken and be done with it.’” With little variance, this story has been repeated hundreds of times by almost every publication in the state at one time or another. And for all that, the story is almost certainly false, an apocryphal tale that yet offers a valuable lesson on how to interrogate untrustworthy historical source material

Regardless of its name, modern Chicken exists as a gold mining relic. The town sits on Chicken Creek, part of the greater Fortymile River mining district between the Yukon and Tanana rivers, hugging the Alaska-Canada border. Settlers first discovered gold on the Fortymile River in 1886. Somewhat relevant to this story, the 16 prospectors working in the area at the time were known as the Sixteen Liars, given their penchant for tall tales. The center of this more minor gold rush was Forty Mile at the confluence of the Yukon and Fortymile Rivers in what is now Yukon, Canada. At its early 1890s peak, the since-abandoned town contained around 1,000 residents, a library, 10 saloons, and an opera house, mostly emptied in favor of the far larger Klondike gold rush a few years later.

Chicken was slower to grow if longer to last. Before 1896, prospecting on Chicken Creek was dominated by a single man, Bob Matheson. That spring, new arrivals began drifting to the site from other, more played-out creeks in the region. By 1898, about 175 people lived in or near Chicken. A post office was established in 1903; by 1906, the town had grown to around 400 residents. Per the 2020 Census, Chicken is hanging in there with 12 permanent residents.

The “cannot spell ptarmigan” version is one of at least three origin stories for Chicken’s name. The oldest relevant source is an 1898 U.S. Geological Survey, or USGS, report on the geology of the Yukon gold district by Josiah Edward Spurr (1870-1950). The Mount Spurr volcano that has occasionally dropped ash onto Anchorage is named after him. In the section on Chicken, from notes collected in 1896, Spurr wrote, “The creek is so named from the size of the gold, which is about that of chicken feed (corn). In appearance the gold is yellow and often coarse, resembling that of Franklin Gulch.”

The “chicken feed” origin is the one accepted by the few serious Alaska history books that weighed in on the topic. This includes James Crouch’s 1957 “A Postal History of Alaska,” which states, “The town was named by its first settlers for the gold nuggets found abundantly in the area. They were about the same size as dried corn generally used for chicken feed.” In his 1973 text, “Alaska-Yukon Place Names,” James Wendell Phillips wrote, “Town’s name is derived from the nearby creek where miners found gold nuggets the size of chicken feed (cracked corn).”

The most prominent Chicken resident by far was author and educator Anne Purdy (1901-1987), nee Hobbs, who came to Alaska as a Bureau of Indian Affairs teacher. She first arrived in Chicken in 1927, on a pack train out of Eagle. Over the subsequent decades, she married a gold miner, adopted and raised 11 children, wrote one book, and collaborated on another. In a 1959 article for the Fairbanks Daily News-Miner, she mentioned a third origin story. Per Purdy, what is now Chicken might have earned its name from the quality of early female residents, pretty chicks in other words.

Purdy’s first book, a memoir titled “Dark Boundary,” was released in 1954. Her more famous memoir, “Tisha,” a collaboration with editor Robert Specht, was first published in 1974. In “Tisha,” she notes, “Chicken got its name from the first prospectors who came here. There was a lot of Ptarmigan here and they thanked God for it because they were hungry. They were so grateful they wanted to name this place Ptarmigan but they couldn’t spell it. They named it good old American Chicken instead. This is what Uncle Arthur said. Mert Atwood says this isn’t true. Chicken got its name because they found gold nuggets as big as chicken corn here.”

The “pretty chicks” origin story can be easily dismissed. As noted by Spurr, the Chicken Creek name predated the site’s evolution into an actual settlement, thus existing before the arrival of female residents. All that to say, there was a Chicken before there were chicks.

Of the other two origins, neither are decisively conclusive. The “chicken feed” version was recorded by Spurr roughly contemporaneously with the naming. A contemporary account is generally preferable to one collected later, especially when dealing with people without an established oral history tradition, like random gold miners in remote 1890s Alaska. Given his training and lengthy career as a geologist, Spurr is, in many ways, a particularly trustworthy observer.

That said, Spurr is just one source. His account lacks specifics, like the identities of those who gave him the story, details that would have strengthened his authority on the matter. For all we know now, the old-time miners played a practical joke on a young man who was fresh to the region. When it comes to history, a single source is better than nothing, but corroboration is superior.

The “cannot spell ptarmigan” origin is far more flawed. That version of the story purports a reality in which the prospectors were embarrassed by misspelling ptarmigan but OK with the readymade punchline of Chicken, a name that has been mocked for more than a century. As Purdy herself said, “The first time I heard the name Chicken I laughed. I didn’t believe there could really be such a place.”

Moreover, the “cannot spell ptarmigan” version appears apocryphal in several ways. Most notably, it first appeared in print decades after the naming, becoming popular in the 1940s. Its origins are absent or, at best, dubious. Beyond that, the story is not just cute but too cute, both self-aware and perfectly self-deprecating. As a result, it feels created rather than natural, artificial rather than organic. This version sells Alaska and the town itself — illiterate but honest — in a way that the “chicken feed” version does not. The “cannot spell ptarmigan” story is admittedly funny and could be true; stranger things have certainly happened in Alaska, but the humor is why this version became the dominant Chicken narrative, not any claim to historical accuracy.

A more famous example along these lines is George Washington and the cherry tree. As the story goes, young Washington cut down a cherry tree with a new hatchet. When confronted, Washington admitted the crime and declared, “I cannot tell a lie.” The story is a complete lie, invented by a Washington biographer to enhance the subject. Yet, the myth survives because it is concise and didactic, illustrating honesty in action.

Every source deserves skepticism, and in the case of Chicken’s name, some more than others. As is often the case with history, we will never know what really happened when the prospectors named the creek and the town. After writing about the name’s origins, Purdy honestly declared, “No one can ever know the real truth, I guess.”

While the tale of illiterate prospectors naming Chicken is likely false, other funny Chicken stories are more firmly grounded in the historical record. Arguments to relocate the Alaska capital date back to the late 19th century, but these discussions intensified during the 1950s as statehood beckoned and became a reality. Then, in 1959, Rep. Bob McCombe and the other six Chicken residents offered their town, including 1,700 acres of land, as the site of a new capital. McCombe told the Daily News-Miner, “If that offer isn’t enough land, we’ll offer more. We’re not Chicken.” He added, “Our community offers legislators an opportunity to ponder problems away from distractions of city life. We are also as centrally located as Anchorage.”

Among the many advantages of Chicken, McCombe pointed out the cheaper housing. “They cost a lot less than the rooms at the Baranof Hotel.” In addition, “We will use our own dog teams to bring in liquor and labor lobbyists. All lobbyists of lesser stature may have to walk.” He was also willing to compromise, sharing state capital status with Juneau. “The capital can be Juneau for six days of the week if it can be Chicken on Sunday.”

Key sources:

“Chicken May Put Alaska in Stew.” Fairbanks Daily News-Miner, November 9, 1959, 1.

Phillips, James Wendell. Alaska-Yukon Place Names. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1973.

“Ptarmigan or Chicken, What’s the Difference?” Anchorage Daily Times, March 16, 1942, 5.

Purdy, Anne. “Here’s News From Chicken.” Fairbanks Daily News-Miner, December 18, 1959, 2.

Specht, Robert. Tisha: The Story of a Young Teacher in the Alaska Wilderness. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1976.

Spurr, Josiah Edward. Geology of the Yukon Gold District, Alaska. Washington D.C.: U.S. Geological Survey, 1898.

Yeend, Warren. Gold Placers of the Historical Fortymile River Region, U.S. Geological Survey Bulletin 2125. Washington, D.C.: United States Geological Survey, 1996.