BOAT JOURNEY INTO INGLEFIELD GULF
The Sculptured Cliffs of Karnah—Luxuriant Vegetation—Stormy
Weather—Anniversary Camp—My Kahlillowah—Crossing the Gulf in a
Tempest—The Shelter of Academy Bay—Fury of the Arctic Winds—An
Iceberg Breakwater—We reach Karnah again—Rounding Cape
Cleveland—Fighting for Life and Shelter—Safe at Redcliffe.
The weather was not very encouraging as we started from Redcliffe House
on Tuesday, August 9, the strong wind of the two previous days having
brought up heavy storm-clouds, which now hid the sun and hung
threateningly overhead. It was just about noon when we left the beach at
Redcliffe, the light “Mary Peary” shooting rapidly along with the
strokes of the six Eskimo boatmen, and in a short time we had rounded
Cape Cleveland and started eastward up the gulf. The scene before us was
very different from what it had been ten months previously, when we made
our first attempt. There were then numerous pans and streams of ice,
with the new ice rapidly cementing them together; the land itself was
covered with snow, and the ice-foot had already commenced to form on the
beach. Now there was only an occasional fragment of ice, though the
great bergs were numerous. The mountains of the shore were rich with the
warm hues of summer. Late in the afternoon a favoring wind came up from
the west, and with foresail hoisted we moved merrily along before it.
Relieved thus from their labors, our crew lounged contentedly upon the
seats, and fell into a conversational mood. Mr. Peary learned from them
that many years ago Mekhtoshay had shot an “amarok,” or wolf, at
Netchiolumy, and that Panikpah had killed one at Nerki; Koomenahpik and
Mekhtoshay, who are brothers, also related that years ago they had both
seen “oomingmuk” (musk-oxen), “awahne, awahne, Etah” (far beyond Etah).
At half-past six in the evening we reached Karnah, a small Eskimo
settlement on the north shore of the sound, some twenty miles from Cape
Cleveland. Here the low, flat shore ends, and a line of towering gray
cliffs begins. We pitched our tent on a level bit of grass among the
stones, and after our evening meal was completed we crossed the noisy
glacial stream flowing near the village, climbed the hill just west of
it, and then followed the shore westward till we came to the stone
igloos of Karnah the deserted. Four houses form this village, which lies
in the center of a beautiful grassy meadow, stretching back from the
shore to the foot of the brown mountains. The luxuriance of the grass
here was wonderful. All across the meadow we waded through it, literally
knee-deep, and in one or two places immediately about the igloos it was
so rank that as I stooped to gather some sprays for pressing I was
almost hidden. Returning to our tent, we were soon lulled to sleep by
the boisterous music of the glacial stream. During the night it snowed
lightly, and when we awoke the ground was covered with a white mantle,
which, however, soon disappeared.
Leaving Karnah on the morning of the 10th, for three or four hours we
threaded our way through bergs and great cakes of blue ice, past the
giant cliffs of Karnah, with their great bastions, towers, chimneys, and
statues, carved by the Arctic storms from the gray sandstone, the
breeding places of black guillemots, burgomaster gulls, and white
falcons. As we passed along our Eskimo boatmen pointed out to us the
striking figures, all of heroic size, looming against the sky far up the
cliffs, and told us that such and such a one was a woman, and such
another a man, and that the cliffs themselves were known as “innuchen”
(statue rocks). There would be wide scope here for the imaginative
genius who has given the nomenclature to the rocks in the Garden of the
Gods. All this time it was raining in fierce showers, and we rounded the
point of the bay east of Karnah in the face of one of them. A number of
deer were seen quietly grazing in the valleys. A fresh wind came up from
the south, and we went dashing up the bay, with the foam flying from the
bow of the boat, and a boiling white wake behind us. We landed on a
sandy beach near the head of the bay. While the tent was being pitched
and the boat hauled out of the water a school of white whales
(“kahkoktah”) came puffing and sporting into the cove, and Koomenahpik
immediately went out in his kayak, which we had in tow, after them. He
remained out for an hour, but as the result of cautiousness, either on
his part or on the part of the whales, he did not succeed in getting
near enough to use his harpoon, and returned unsuccessful. The view from
our camp was very impressive. Facing us, and forming nearly a
semicircle, was a great glacier; just across the cove a great nunatak
reared its brown mass above the ice, and everywhere the cliffs were of a
warm red and brown coloring, a marked contrast to the wintry shores of
Herbert and Northumberland islands, and to the chilly, gray sandstone
cliffs of Karnah. Our tent was pitched just above high-water mark beside
a little stream whose banks were actually yellow with Arctic poppies.
[Illustration:
Pillar of Sandstone.
]
The heavy showers continued through the night, and we waited until noon
of the 11th for them to cease. Verhoeff was out after specimens until
after midnight, and then, returning, slept in the boat. He left us at
this point to join Gibson in Tooktoo Valley. Crossing over to the
eastern side of the bay, we found a beautiful rock-protected cove, with
a stream flowing into it from a valley above. While Mr. Peary climbed to
the top of a rock to obtain some bearings, I took my rifle and started
up the valley in search of deer. In a short time I had shot two. One of
them I brought down at long range while he was running at full speed. As
this day was the anniversary of our wedding, we celebrated it mildly
with a milk-punch and fried liver from the deer which I had shot. Here,
midway between the Arctic Circle and the Pole, we were in a veritable
garden spot. Vines and plants and flowers run and grow in luxuriant
abundance over and in the crevices of the rocks. The stream which
empties into the cove comes from a beautiful mirror-like lake set in a
grassy meadow only a short distance up the valley, and over the
protecting ledge to the west come the continuous thunder and groanings
of the great glacier.
Continuing our exploration, we arrived, through wind, snow, and rain, at
the precipitous island which lies near the eastern extremity of the
gulf. Here, in the angle of the island and a huge glacier, in which it
was partially buried, we pitched the tent, though not without protest
from the natives, who said that the waves from an iceberg breaking off
the glacier might smash the boat and swamp the camp. While we were at
dinner Koomenahpik raised the alarm of “kahlillowah,” and looking out we
saw two narwhal among the bergs, a large one and a small one. We
immediately pulled out for the animals. As we approached, the larger of
the two disappeared, but we were able to get near enough to the other
one for me to put a bullet through its head; then Koomenahpik drove a
harpoon into its back, and after a short struggle we had it in tow for
the camp. The next morning we found my prize high and dry on the rocks,
a great mottled, misshapen mass of flesh, with a gleaming ivory horn,
straight as an arrow, and almost as sharp as a stiletto, projecting
straight out from its nose. It was a wonderful sight to me, who never
before had seen the narwhal, the fabled ancestor of the unicorn. I could
not gaze at it sufficiently.
[Illustration:
THE MELVILLE GLACIER—INGLEFIELD GULF.
]
When we started off again, in the afternoon of August 14th, our boat was
loaded down almost to the gunwales with our trophies of narwhal and
reindeer, the tents, and other equipment. The morning’s promise of
pleasant weather had not been fulfilled. Heavy black clouds were
gathering thick and fast, and by the time we had reached the southern
end of the island it was raining steadily. As we ran out from the lee of
the island the full force of the now furious northeast gale struck us,
and we were pelted mercilessly with sheets of water. It was a wild
scene, with the sullen, spectral glare of the great glaciers north and
east of us beneath the pall of black clouds, the wind howling over us as
if it would pick us bodily out of the water, and the black cliffs at the
mouth of Academy Bay, our destination, mere shadows, felt rather than
seen through the rain full twenty miles to the south. The gulf was full
of great bergs and masses of hard blue ice, the outflow from the
glaciers, through the mazes of which we were obliged to pick our way;
yet they were our friends, for they kept the water smooth in spite of
the raging wind, and gave us now and then a shelter, behind which we
could stop for a few moments and catch our breath before striking out
again into the furious blast. Fortunately, the wind was partly in our
favor; in spite of our tortuous course we made rapid progress, and in
four hours were abreast of the group of islands down in the southeast
corner of the gulf, which we had visited in April during our sledge
trip. From here to Tawanah’s igloo at the month of the bay was the
critical part of our voyage. This distance was entirely free of ice, and
though only five or six miles in width, the force of the wind was such
that the whitecaps were rushing madly across it as we came out from
under the shelter of the islands. With just a bit of the foresail up to
enable the boat to run away from the waves, and two oars ready to be
dropped instantly into the rowlocks, in case of necessity, we dashed
madly along, with every now and then the top of a wave coming in over
the stern of the boat, and striking Mr. Peary and myself in the back
with a resounding whack. More than once my teeth involuntarily closed
more firmly as I saw a mad white crest rushing down upon us, but our
little craft rode the waves like a duck, and we finally shot under the
lee of the point at Tawanah’s igloo. As the boat sped along through the
placid water and the sail flapped against the mast in the eddy of wind
under the point, every one breathed a sigh of relief.
In spite of the fury of the storm out in the gulf, here in the bay under
the steep shore everything was calm and quiet. The mast and sail were
taken down and the oars run out, and our native crew settled down to
work again, glad to warm themselves by exercise. Suddenly, however, the
wind, with the perverseness common to winds in these Arctic regions,
came rushing out of the bay, meeting us full in the face, and making it
almost impossible for the men to make head against it. But Mr. Peary
spurred them on, and by hugging the shore we succeeded, with the aid of
the tide, in reaching a little island about half-way up the bay,
opposite which, despite the high waves, we effected a landing. We had
the utmost difficulty in setting up our tent, but we at last got the
better of the hurricane by securing the bottom of the tent all around
with huge stones.
Never before had I understood the power of the wind. To add to its
terrifying effect, it did not blow steadily now, as when it first
commenced, but came in frightful gusts with intervals of calm between.
For perhaps a minute or two it would be absolutely still, the black
cliffs across the bay would loom up in perfect distinctness, and every
intonation of the waves, dashing upon the rocks, could be heard; then a
rushing white wall would spring into view around the bend of the bay a
mile or so above us, an ominous murmur would be heard, rapidly
increasing in volume and intensity, until, with a roar, the Arctic blast
was upon us, literally cutting the tops off the waves and hurling them
in solid masses of water far up the cliffs. The icebergs went tearing
out of the bay like ships in a ten-knot breeze. A number of these bergs
sailed in toward our little island, and, grounding at the upper end of
the channel, formed a complete breakwater. When the wild gusts struck
these great bergs they rocked and groaned, flung themselves at each
other with thunderous crash, reeling backward shattered and split from
the shock, while all the time the waves dashed against their outer
faces, climbed in white jets clear to their tops, and fell in
intermittent cataracts into the waters of our little harbor. It seemed
as if we were at the very gates of the Hyperborean Inferno. All night
long this struggle continued, the flying spray from the iceberg
breakwater dashing against the tent, drenching it and all its contents.
Mr. Peary and Matt spent the greater part of the night in holding up the
tent-poles.
By morning the storm had exhausted its fury, and we were on our journey
once more. But heavy weather soon set in again, and a disagreeable
drizzle continued throughout the night and the greater part of the
following day. We made a bee-line diagonally across the gulf to Karnah,
the castellated cliffs of which could just be discerned through the gray
mist which hung low over the water. Head winds and a contrary flood-tide
made our progress slow, and it was only after a long and weary day of
hard work for the men at the oars, and of wet and cold and cramp for
those in the stern of the boat, that we touched the northern shore a few
miles above Karnah, where we gladly availed ourselves of the opportunity
to jump out and stretch our stiffened limbs. It was our intention to
camp here for the night, but after the refreshing effects of a hot
dinner, with ample draughts of tea, every one felt so much better,
although thoroughly tired out, that we determined to push on to
Redcliffe. As we neared Cape Cleveland the wind blew a gale, but now,
for the first time, it was in our favor, and Mr. Peary ordered up both
sails. Under Matt’s skilful guidance we went flying past the cliffs for
the mouth of McCormick Bay, dodging the hard blue lumps of ice, some of
which could not be seen until we were almost upon them, frightening a
herd of walrus into which we dashed unexpectedly, and then at last
whirled round the point at Cape Cleveland into an eddy of quiet wind and
water. Scarcely had we rounded the Cape, however, when Mr. Peary’s eye
saw another one of those white squalls rushing down upon us from Tooktoo
Valley, and there was just time to get the masts and sails down, and the
men to the oars with feet braced against the seats and backs straining
to the bending ash-blades, when the squall was upon us. The wind tore
off the tops of the waves and dashed them in our faces until it was
impossible to see. When the gusts were at their height the men could
only hold their own and prevent the boat from being blown backward out
into the sound, while in the intervals between they managed to gain a
little, and in this way we crept along inch by inch toward the sheltered
beach on which we had landed from the “Kite” a week before. Suddenly,
just as we came abreast of the place where a still remaining portion of
the ice-foot formed an ugly overhanging shelf, under which the waves
broke furiously, Kulutingwah’s oar snapped short off, and Kulutingwah
himself, with a wild cry, pitched backward into the bottom of the boat.
In the momentary confusion which followed, the boat began drifting
rapidly under the shelf, when Mr. Peary seized the oar of the man
nearest him and urged every one to his utmost, at the same time shouting
to Kulutingwah to jump for the bow of the boat and throw the grapnel
out. With understanding quickened by fear, the Eskimo carried out the
order almost as soon as it was uttered, and with all still tugging at
the oars to ease the strain upon the anchor-rope, the boat settled
slowly back inch by inch, until finally she stopped so near the wicked
blue shelf of ice that I could touch it with my hand. This respite gave
us a chance to recover our breath, and enabled Mr. Peary to make a
change in the disposition of the men. In the intervals between the gusts
the oars slowly and painfully worked the boat ahead, and before the next
squall struck us the grapnel was thrown over, and every one crouched low
in the boat, to present as little surface as possible to the wind. In
this way, with the woman Armah crying and screaming in the bottom of the
boat, and the faces of the men a dingy white, we at last reached the
coveted beach. So deafening was the roar of the wind that we could
hardly hear each other’s voices. Leaving Kulutingwah to watch the boat,
we made our way to Redcliffe.