"What kind of place is Uyak?" I asked a deck-hand who was a native of
Sweden, as we stood out in the bow of the _Dora_ one day.
He turned and looked at me and grinned.
"It ees a hal of a blace," he replied, promptly and frankly. "It ees
yoost dat t'ing. You vill see."
And I did see. I should, in fact, like to take this frank-spoken
gentleman along with me wherever I go, solely to answer people who ask
me what kind of place Uyak is--his opinion so perfectly coincides with
my own.
There were canneries at Uyak, and mosquitoes, and things to be smelled;
but if there be anything there worth seeing, they must first kill the
mosquitoes, else it will never be seen.
The air was black with these pests, and the instant we stepped upon the
wharf we were black with them, too. Every passenger resembled a windmill
in action, as he raced down the wharf toward the cannery, hoping to find
relief there; and as he went his nostrils were assailed by an odor that
is surpassed in only one place on earth--_Belkoffski!_--and it comes
later.
The hope of relief in the canneries proved to be a vain one. The
unfortunate Chinamen and natives were covered with mosquitoes as they
worked; their faces and arms were swollen; their eyes were fierce with
suffering. They did not laugh at our frantic attempts to rid ourselves
of the winged pests--as we laughed at one another. There was nothing
funny in the situation to those poor wretches. It was a tragedy. They
stared at us with desperate eyes which asked:--
"Why don't you go away if you are suffering? You are free to leave. What
have you to complain of? _We_ must stay."
We went out and tried to walk a little way along the hill; but the
mosquitoes mounted in clouds from the wild-rose thickets. At the end of
fifteen minutes we fled back to the steamer and locked ourselves in our
staterooms. There we sat down and nursed our grievances with camphor and
alcohol.
We sailed up Uyak Bay to the mine of the Kodiak Gold Mining Company.
This is a free milling mine and had been a developing property for four
years. It was then installing a ten-stamp mill, and had twenty thousand
tons of ore blocked out, the ore averaging from fifteen to twenty
dollars a ton.
This mine is located on the northern side of Kadiak Island, and has good
water power and excellent shipping facilities. Fifty thousand dollars
were taken out of the beaches in the vicinity in 1904 by placer mining.
Here, in this lovely, lonely bay, one of the most charming women I ever
met spends her summers. She is the wife of one of the owners of the
mine, and her home is in San Francisco. She finds the summers ideal, and
longs for the novelty of a winter at the mine. She has a canoe and
spends most of her time on the water. There are no mosquitoes at the
mine; the summers are never uncomfortably hot, and it is seldom, indeed,
that the mercury falls to zero in the winter.
From Kadiak Island we crossed Shelikoff Straits to Cold Bay, on the
Aliaska Peninsula, which we reached at midnight, and which is the only
port that could not tempt us ashore. When our dear, dark-eyed Japanese,
"Charlie," played a gentle air upon our cabin door with his fingers and
murmured apologetically, "Cold Bay," we heard the rain pouring down our
windows in sheets, and we ungratefully replied, "Go away, Charlie, and
leave us alone."
No rope-ladders and dory landings for us on such a night, at a place
with such a name.
The following day was clear, however, and we sailed all day along the
peninsula. To the south of us lay the Tugidak, Trinity, Chirikoff, and
Semidi islands.
At six in the evening we landed at Chignik, another uninteresting
cannery place. From Chignik on "to Westward" the resemblance of the
natives to the Japanese became more remarkable. As they stood side by
side on the wharves, it was almost impossible to distinguish one from
the other. The slight figures, brown skin, softly bright, dark eyes,
narrowing at the corners, and amiable expression made the resemblance
almost startling.
At Chignik we had an amusing illustration, however, of the ease with
which even a white man may grow to resemble a native.
The mail agent on the _Dora_ was a great admirer of his knowledge of
natives and native customs and language. _Cham-mi_ is a favorite
salutation with them. Approaching a man who was sitting on a barrel, and
who certainly resembled a native in color and dress, the agent
pleasantly exclaimed, "_Cham-mi._"
There was no response; the man did not lift his head; a slouch hat
partially concealed his face.
"_Cham-mi!_" repeated the agent, advancing a step nearer.
There was still no response, no movement of recognition.
The mail agent grew red.
"He must be deaf as a post," said he. He slapped the man on the shoulder
and, stooping, fairly shouted in his ear, "_Cham-mi_, old man!"
Then the man lifted his head and brought to view the unmistakable
features of a Norwegian.
"T'hal with you," said he, briefly. "I'm no tamn Eskimo."
The mail agent looked as though the wharf had gone out from under his
feet; and never again did we hear him give the native salutation to any
one. The Norwegian had been living for a year among the natives; and by
the twinkle in his eye as he again lowered his head it was apparent that
he appreciated the joke.
At the entrance to Chignik Bay stands Castle Cape, or Tuliiumnit Point.
From the southeastern side it really resembles a castle, with turrets,
towers, and domes. It is an immense, stony pile jutting boldly out into
the sea, whose sparkling blue waves, pearled with foam, break loudly
upon its base. In color it is soft gray, richly and evenly streaked with
rose. Sea birds circled, screaming, over it and around it. Castle Cape
might be the twin sister of "Calico Bluff" on the Yukon.
Popoff and Unga are the principal islands of the Shumagin group, on one
of which Behring landed and buried a sailor named Shumagin. They are the
centre of famous cod-fishing grounds which extend westward and northward
to the Arctic Ocean, eastward to Cook Inlet, and southeastward to the
Straits of Juan de Fuca.
There are several settlements on the Island of Unga--Coal Harbor, Sandy
Point, Apollo, and Unga. The latter is a pretty village situated on a
curving agate beach. It is of some importance as a trading post.
Finding no one to admit us to the Russo-Greek church, we admitted
ourselves easily with our stateroom key; but the tawdry cheapness of the
interior scarcely repaid us for the visit. The graveyard surrounding the
church was more interesting.
There is no wharf at Unga, but there is one at Apollo, about three miles
farther up the bay. We were taken up to Apollo in a sail-boat, and it
proved to be an exciting sail. It is not sailing unless the rail is
awash; but it seemed as though the entire boat were awash that June
afternoon in the Bay of Unga. Scarcely had we left the ship when we were
struck by a succession of squalls which lasted until our boat reeled,
hissing, up to the wharf at Apollo.
Water poured over us in sheets, drenching us. We could not stay on the
seats, as the bottom of the boat stood up in the air almost
perpendicularly. We therefore stood up with it, our feet on the lower
rail with the sea flowing over them, and our shoulders pressed against
the gunwale. Had it not been for the broad shoulders of two Englishmen,
our boat would surely have gone over.
It all came upon us so suddenly that we had no time to be frightened,
and, with all the danger, it was glorious. No whale--no "right" whale,
even--could be prouder than we were of the wild splashing and spouting
that attended our tipsy race up Unga Bay.
The wharf floated dizzily above us, and we were compelled to climb a
high perpendicular ladder to reach it. No woman who minds climbing
should go to Alaska. She is called upon at a moment's notice to climb
everything, from rope-ladders and perpendicular ladders to volcanoes. A
mile's walk up a tramway brought us to the Apollo.
This is a well-known mine, which has been what is called a "paying
proposition" for many years. At the time of our visit it was worked out
in its main lode, and the owners had been seeking desperately for a new
one. It was discovered the following year, and the Apollo is once more a
rich producer.
In a large and commodious house two of the owners of the mine lived,
their wives being with them for the summer. They were gay and charming
women, fond of society, and pining for the fleshpots of San Francisco.
The white women living between Kodiak and Dutch Harbor are so few that
they may be counted on one hand, and the luxurious furnishings of their
homes in these out-of-the-way places are almost startling in their
unexpectedness. We spent the afternoon at the mine, and the ladies
returned to the _Dora_ with us for dinner. The squalls had taken
themselves off, and we had a prosaic return in the mine's launch.
"What do we do?" said one of the ladies, in reply to my question. "Oh,
we read, walk, write letters, go out on the water, play cards, sew, and
do so much fancy work that when we get back to San Francisco we have
nothing to do but enjoy ourselves and brag about the good time we have
in Alaska. We are all packed now to go camping--"
"_Camping!_" I repeated, too astonished to be polite.
"Yes, camping," replied she, coloring, and speaking somewhat coldly. "We
go in the launch to the most beautiful beach about ten miles from Unga.
We stay a month. It is a sheltered beach of white sand. The waves lap on
it all day long, blue, sparkling, and warm, and we almost live in them.
The hills above the beach are simply covered with the big blueberries
that grow only in Alaska. They are somewhat like the black mountain
huckleberry, only more delicious. We can them, preserve them, and dry
them, and take them back to San Francisco with us. They are the best
things I ever ate--with thick cream on them. I had some in the house; I
wish I had thought to offer you some."
She wished she had thought to offer me some!
On the _Dora_ we were rapidly getting down to bacon and fish,--being
about two thousand miles from Seattle, with no ice aboard in this land
of ice,--and I am not enthusiastic about either.
And she wished that she had thought to offer me some Alaskan blueberries
that are more delicious than mountain huckleberries, and thick cream!