Oct. 30.--Returned last night from a six days' trip up Hunt River.
Clyde and I started together with the expectation of getting far
into the mountain ranges. As has been my custom from a small boy
when starting on a trip. I made big preparations, much bigger than
necessary. We had grub enough for two weeks. The boys expected great
things on our return--bear, deer and other game, all of which was
confidently promised. But to tell the honest truth, I wanted to get
some chickadees and butcher birds. To carry our voluminous outfit we
appropriated a sled belonging to a neighboring Indian who had gone
fishing. These native sleds are very light, having birch runners,
and slender spruce frame-work, the whole strongly lashed together
with raw-hide thongs. Every morning before loading we poured water
on the runners, thus forming an ice shoe. As yet there is no snow,
so that our route necessarily lay along the frozen river, which was
covered with a foot of ice. Our load weighed about three hundred
pounds, and where the ice was smooth little exertion was needed to
draw the sled as fast as we could walk. In some places sand had
blown into the ice and such spots would give us hard work. We wore
"creepers" on our heavy boots--that is, a kind of conical pointed
spike, screwed into the bottoms, three into the heel and four into
the sole of the shoe. With these we can walk anywhere up or down upon
the ice without slipping. In traveling, one of us pulled the sled,
with the rope over his shoulder, while the other pushed. Across the
rear of the sled were two sticks projecting backwards and upwards,
with a cross-piece to push against, baby-carriage fashion.
The first day we made rapid progress, making twenty-five miles. We
camped at night not far from the first foot-hills. The tent was
raised in a grove of cottonwoods near the river, and soon a fire
roared in the camp stove. When I had the fire well started, I went
down to get a pail of water. I walked to the middle of the creek and
began to chop hard where I thought the ice was thinnest. Sure enough
I had judged correctly, for with the second stroke the ice gave way
under me, and down I went to the arm-pits in the icy water. I had
fallen through an air hole. Luckily the ice all around was firm, so
that I could raise myself up and wriggle out, or else my bath might
have been continued. As it was, before I could reach the tent my
clothes were frozen stiff. The temperature was below zero.
Fortunately for me I had a warm tent and a change of clothes to go
to. Meanwhile Clyde had cut a big pile of wood and soon we were
wrestling with piles of flapjacks.
After supper I had another experience with the ice. Forgetting that
I had exchanged my wet boots for a pair of shoes without creepers
in them. I started to go across the river. After the first ice had
formed the river had fallen, and now the ice sagged downward from
the banks towards the middle, hammock-wise. As soon as I stepped
on the ice my feet flew out from under me and down I slid. I got
up, no worse for wear, but with a sudden recollection that I had no
creepers on. I cautiously started to walk to the bank, but on account
of the slant of the slippery ice, I could make little headway before
slipping back. I was in a similar position to that of a mouse in a
tin basin. Finally by walking down the river a short distance, I
pulled myself up by an overhanging willow.
Next morning at sunrise--eight o'clock--we started on up the river.
Soon we came to long stretches of open water where the stream had
been too swift to freeze over. In several places the icy margin was
so narrow that it afforded room for but one runner on the ice, and we
had to drag the sled over pebbles and sand.
Owing to the fact that the stream became swifter the further we went,
we turned about and started back with a view to making camp among the
willows down the river, where we had seen the most birds on the way
up.
[Illustration: Native Method of Piling Winter Wood.]
Clyde shot twice with his rifle at a red fox, but missed it. He got
"rattled." as one usually does when shooting at game, and as I have
seen good hunters do. He tried a target at the same distance as the
fox had been and hit the bull's-eye squarely.
We got down to the willows late in the evening, but in time to select
a sheltered place for the tent before dark. While I cooked the supper
Clyde gathered a large stack of hay for our bed. In a swale near by
the finest kind of red-top hay, all cured, stood waist deep. Here,
among the willows, eight miles from Camp Penelope, we remained for
four nights. There were a good many fox and wolf tracks in the sand,
and I had my traps set all the time, but without success. However.
I obtained a mouse new to me--the lemming. Clyde tramped through
the country toward the mountains, but saw nothing of importance.
He fished and brought back three grayling. I paid my respects to
the small birds and secured four rare chickadees, besides several
redpolls, pine grosbeaks. Alaskan jay, grouse, ptarmigan, etc. I had
bad luck with ptarmigan. I missed seven good shots for some reason.
The ptarmigan are now clothed in very thick winter plumage, which may
account for it in part.
I secured five. They are pure, spotless white with black tails. They
are very conspicuous now, until the snow comes, and they seem to
realize it, for they are extremely shy. They remain in flocks in the
willow thickets. In the middle of the day they may be found dusting
themselves on the sunny side of the river banks among the willows.
Their tracks are everywhere. Although there is no snow on the ground,
in many places there is a thick layer of hoar frost on the sand and
grass, and tracks of any bird or animal are easily seen.
The days have grown very short now. We would have to light our candle
by half-past hour, and soon we would begin to yawn, and by six we
would go to sleep, not to get up again until eight the next morning;
and even then it is with reluctance, on account of the cold. The tent
was easy to keep comfortably warm on the inside as long as the fire
burned in the stove, but in an hour after the fire went out it was
as cold inside as it was outside. Clyde and I slept on the hay with
two pairs of blankets under us, and two pairs over us, and a large
canvas sheet outside of the blankets well tucked in. And the blankets
were no common ones. They were made for the Arctic trade, and were
as thick as an ordinary comforter. And then we wore all our clothes.
Each had on three pairs of heavy wool socks, a hood and mittens.
In the morning the edges of the blankets were faced with ice from our
breath, and the inside of the tent sparkled with a beauty I cannot
describe. It was fourteen degrees below zero the last morning, and
the boys at home declared we got "frozen out," the reason we returned
so soon. When they found out that we did not go even to the foot
of the mountains, but had camped all that time in the willows just
across the river, they ridiculed us unmercifully, especially the
doctor. But I'll be even with him some bright Arctic day. He even
insinuated that I went on that trip just to be able to cook as much
mush as I wanted to eat. I will admit that mush was a very agreeable
feature of the trip.
I really obtained what I went for--the chickadees. I have tramped
with a burro (a California donkey), a canoe, and at last with a sled,
and I must say that the sled is preferable when one has a level
surface to travel over.
We had carried grub for two weeks, a 7 × 10 tent, camp stove and
three lengths of pipe, four pairs of blankets, tent fly, sailor bag
full of clothing, axe, hatchet, camera, two guns, traps, etc. I think
I will make another trip soon if the weather remains clear.
Nov. 7.--A week ago Dr. Coffin, Clyde and Rivers, with a Dr. Gleaves
of the Hanson Camp below us, started up the Kowak to visit the other
section of our company about one hundred and fifty miles north, and
to find out all the news of interest along the route. They walked,
carrying food, abundant clothing, and camping tools, on a sled.
They hope to make the round trip in three weeks. I had intended to
make the trip with them, but have not yet put up all the birds in
my possession, and must work on them. We are a small family now,
only six. C. C. still cooks, and I am willing he should continue the
good work. He makes pies and cakes almost "as good as mother used to
make," and fine yeast bread.
A damp, raw east wind makes it bitterly cold to-day. At daylight
this morning I went across the river to the willows for a couple of
hours. It was six degrees below zero when I started, and I wore only
a thin hood and mittens and a canvas jumper. By the time I got well
across I felt nearly frozen, and as soon as possible I built a fire.
My nose was frost-bitten before I knew it. I shot a ptarmigan and two
redpolls before returning.
Chenetto, one of our native neighbors, trapped a big gray wolf, a
white fox and a red fox last week, I have tried to trade for them,
but the natives say they need them for clothing; and they very
plainly do, for these are the poorest Indians we have met. I regret
our opportunity for trading down at Cape Prince of Wales. We expected
the same advantage in Kotzebue, but are disappointed. One or two of
our company keep an eye on special bargains and appropriate them.
Last week a German called at every camp on the Kowak working up a
"winter mail route." He had skated up from the mouth of the river,
and proposed to take letters down to Cape Blossom for one dollar
each. A reindeer team is expected there from St. Michaels in December
which will bring in or carry back any mail. He is called "The Flying
Dutchman."
Another man from up the river came down yesterday on the same
business, proposing further to take mail himself to St. Michaels.
Some of our Iowa neighbors warned us of him as a possible "crook." He
claims to have seven hundred letters promised at one dollar each. One
meets all kinds of people in this desolate country, and even the face
of a "crook" is not rare.
[Illustration: The "Flying Dutchman."]
Schemers are trying various ways to get money. The gold proposition
here is an entire failure so far, and the stories published are
no better than "made up on purpose." It is supposed they were
constructed by the transportation companies, and surely these have
reaped a harvest this year. A thousand men are in winter quarters
in the Kotzebue region, besides the many who went back the last
thing in the fall. Hundreds of thousands of dollars were expended
by parties coming here, and nothing is taken out; all of that money
going to the transportation companies and merchants of San Francisco
and Seattle. The H---- crowd alone, who are camped five miles below
us, paid $31,000 for their outfit, including sailing vessel and
river steamer. Part of this company got "cold feet" and went back,
and the remainder have tons of provisions here to dispose of. They
cannot get it into the interior to the Klondike regions, and so they
will have to transport it all back down the river and so on to San
Francisco, unless they can dispose of it on the way, which is not
likely. It is strange how many fools were started to this country
by bogus reports in the newspapers. Each party thought itself about
the only one coming up here, and, what is most amusing, many of them
had a "sure thing." Several parties whom we know of paid someone for
a "tip" as to the exact place where the gold was waiting for the
lucky men to pick it up. When they arrived at the Sound they rushed
as soon as their feet could carry them, to take possession of their
promised gold, only to find that they had been duped. They returned
with righteous indignation burning in their bosoms, and to this day
and for all time to come, justice is in hiding for the scoundrels, if
they are found.
This country may possibly have gold in it, for I know that it has not
been prospected as it should. Men pan out on a sand-bar of a river
here and there and are discouraged at finding nothing. And moreover
they will not do another stroke of work, but either return to the
States, or camp somewhere waiting for "another man" to sink shafts
and do what we know is real prospecting. I should not be surprised
if three-fourths of the people on this river are idle, waiting for
the others to dig. I know that our camp has done practically nothing,
as may be seen from the reports which I have made, when I myself was
supposed to be one of the prospectors. We are all equally guilty.
It seems that people expected to find mines all ready to work, and,
since none are visible, sit down and give it up. Our company, as well
as many another, is something of a farce when it comes to being a
"mining company." We are doing nothing. It seems that when the gold
fever takes hold of a man it deprives him of a fair proportion of
his reason. But it cannot be denied that we are getting experience.
Who would not be a miner under such comfortable circumstances as
ours? Meanwhile I am skinning mice and chickadees. I am doing exactly
what I want to do, and work here is original work of which I shall
be glad in time to come. I would be nowhere else In the world than
right here now. One cannot take a stroll in the Arctics every day. I
am resolved to remain as long as I can and improve my opportunities.
If the company disbands I shall stay with the missionaries. I do
not know what this gold-hunting expedition came up here for unless
to accommodate me, unintentionally of course. Everything delights
me, from the hoar frost on my somewhat scanty though growing beard,
to the ice-locked Kowak and its border of silver-laden spruces. And
the ptarmigans: What beautiful birds! part and parcel in color and
endurance of this frozen world. And the winter is not half over. What
revelations when spring knocks at the barred doors! How alert the
awakening landscape I can as yet only partially realize.
[Illustration: In the Spruce Woods.]
[Illustration]