Dobson describes himself as a 'mongrel' of Scottish, Irish, and Norwegian descent, and parks himself in a seat in the café under a notice inscribed Gospel According to Geordie. But behind the self-depreciative manner and barman's vocabulary, Dobson has a keen interest in world events and no end of well-argued opinions. The café TV is tuned in to the History Channel, and the shelves in the house are lined with thick tomes on world and war history. Among them, the yellow jacket of a well-thumbed book reads, 'Surviving the Great Depression of the 1990s.'

As a youth Dobson joined the British merchant marine, albeit a few months shy of his birthday. "I lied and told them I was already sixteen," he admits, his eyes twinkling. He finagled his way onto a Norwegian ship and mastered enough of the language to get by. Dobson spent the next twelve years exploring the world as a seaman, and in 1952 found his way to the Yukon for what was intended to be a three month stint in the silver mine at Elsa.

Fifty years later, Dobson still makes his home in Keno. He eventually married, raised daughters and for decades ran the town's central establishments, including hotel, café and gas bar. After the mine shut down, things became pretty quiet and he closed his hotel several years ago. Though he'd embrace a reason to open it again, at 77, Dobson seems content with the slower pace.

Now that it's September, he also seems willing to grouse a bit about tourists. "Damn Americans, they come in and walk around, look at all my photos and stuff on the wall. I'll be sitting right here"--he indicates his post in the middle of the bar--"and they'll walk right past and out the door without even acknowledging me. No thanks, no hello--and I'm sitting right here!" But Dobson's such a part of the local lore--such an institution--that it's almost conceivable that a visitor might think he's just part of the tour.

He softens up quickly, smiles easily and whistles an Irish tune as he heads out the door to show us his dories, which are locked away in sheds dotting the property. For fifty years, Dobson's been a land-locked sailor who's found ways to indulge a passion for beautiful boats. He has built and refinished six or seven impressive craft, all sporting the same cheery shade of brilliant blue marine paint. An album of family photos behind the bar records five decades of outings on local lakes and hunting trips downriver. Kids, dogs and carcasses are not piled into an aluminum Lund, but rather in the cockpits of some very graceful watercraft.

His outbuildings house another treasure, this one parked in a dank garage below the orange Gulf sign--a 1979 powder blue Lincoln Continental. "They don't make cars like that anymore," he says wistfully, pointing to the padded white leather upholstery. "And she's got just 83,000 miles on her."

Dobson's dream is to build a new dory to sail from the Stewart River all the way down the Yukon River to the ocean, and then down the Alaska and B.C. coast to Vancouver. He's tenacious and spry, and clearly an accomplished boatbuilder, so it may not be too long before he achieves his dream.

Keno City is a rarity among small northern communities-it's a living ghost town, a delight to explore. It may be a little sleepy, but what Keno lacks in conventional amenities it more than makes up for with character. Geordie Dobson is just that kind of character, the very heart of Keno.