_By William S. Thomas_
Hunting Big Game with Gun and with Kodak
Trails and Tramps in Alaska and Newfoundland
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York London
[Illustration: Mother 'Possum and her Family]
TRAILS AND TRAMPS
IN ALASKA AND
NEWFOUNDLAND
By
WILLIAM S. THOMAS
AUTHOR OF "HUNTING BIG GAME WITH GUN AND KODAK"
WITH ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY-SEVEN
ILLUSTRATIONS FROM ORIGINAL
PHOTOGRAPHS
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
The Knickerbocker Press
1913
COPYRIGHT, 1913
BY
WILLIAM S. THOMAS
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
To
MY WIFE
WHO SHARED NONE OF THE PLEASURES OF THE TRAIL AND BORE
ALL THE ANXIETIES FOR MY RETURN.
PREFACE
The matter here submitted has been accumulated upon several hunting
trips in the wilderness, and many excursions from time to time into the
woods and fields about home. The author has for some years kept more or
less extensive field notes, and has taken numerous photographs of
objects, scenes, or incidents by the way.
Not all of the narrative is concerned with the chase, but all has to do
with, or is in some way attributable to, the wanderlust that from
boyhood days has cast its spell over the author at uncertain intervals,
and from time to time, has compelled a pilgrimage nearer or farther into
the regions of that freedom found only where man is not.
If in the heart of the reader it sets vibrating again some chord once
sounded by the breath of the forest, or stirs to harmony some strings
hitherto not attuned to the music of the great outdoors, the mission of
this volume will not have been vain, for it will then have assisted in a
modest way the interpretation of that medium of expression of which
Bryant has said,
"To him who in the love of nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A varied language."
W. S. T.
PITTSBURGH, PA.,
_March, 1913_.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I CRUISING AND HUNTING IN SOUTHEASTERN ALASKA 1
II OBSERVATIONS ON KODIAK ISLAND 64
III HUNTING BIG GAME ON THE KENAI PENINSULA 123
IV A TRIP TO NEWFOUNDLAND 181
V HUNTING WITH A FERRET 222
VI A NIGHT HUNT 238
VII IN THE SPRINGTIME 247
VIII A PLEA FOR PROTECTION 305
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
MOTHER 'POSSUM AND HER FAMILY _Frontispiece_
KETCHIKAN 3
MYRIADS OF SALMON 5
"FATHER" DUNCAN 7
METLAKATLA 8
GUEST HOUSE 9
"FATHER" DUNCAN'S CHURCH 10
WHERE THE INDIANS ROAMED 11
STREET SCENE IN METLAKATLA 12
METLAKATLA BELLES 13
INDIANS CHEERING THE SECRETARY 15
TOTEMS AT SITKA 18
INDIAN WAR CANOE 20
PETERSBURG 22
STREAMS OF CRYSTAL WATER 23
LIGHTHOUSE NEAR DIXON'S ENTRANCE 26
SITKA 27
PRIESTS OF THE GREEK CHURCH AT SITKA 28
FAIRWEATHER RANGE 30
UPPER ICE FIELDS 31
THE AUTHOR LOOKING INTO A CREVASSE 33
NATIVE WOMEN TRADING 35
MOTHER AND BABE 36
PLAYING IN THE SAND 37
NATIVE BOYS OUT GUNNING 38
SUNSET NEAR ST. ELIAS 39
CAPE ST. ELIAS 41
HINCHINBROOK ISLAND 44
VALDEZ AFTER THE FLOOD 45
BRUIN IN A STEEL TRAP 46
SALMON RUNNING UP STREAM TO SPAWN 49
KILLING FISH WITH A CLUB 50
GULLS FEEDING ON SALMON 51
A GOOD FISHERMAN 52
DOGS FISHING FOR SALMON 53
INDIAN HUT 55
INDIAN GRAVES 56
INDIAN WOMEN REPAIRING THE BIDARKA 57
SUNRISE 60
OUR PERMANENT CAMP 61
AN ISLAND NEAR VALDEZ 65
SEA LION ROCKS 67
SEWARD 68
SELDOVIA 69
TURBULENT SHELLICOFF 71
THE RAVENS 72
KODIAK 79
GULL ISLAND 80
FORGET-ME-NOTS 81
CROW'S NEST AND YOUNG 82
NESTS OF EAGLE AND MAGPIE 83
EAGLE WATCHING FOR PREY 85
EAGLE'S NEST AND YOUNG 86
FIRST SIGHT OF DAY 88
SEA PARROT INCUBATING 90
SEA PARROT'S NEST AND EGG 91
CHARACTERISTIC NEST OF "GYGIS" 93
NEST AND EGGS OF HERRING GULL 94
OUR CAMP AMONG THE COTTONWOODS 97
AN EXTINCT CRATER WHERE THE BEAR HIBERNATE 101
WHERE HE FELL 103
STRETCHED BEAR SKINS 105
INDIAN BARABARA 108
KODIAK ISLAND PINKS 109
KENAI RIVER 129
LINING THE BOAT 133
MID-DAY ON THE KENAI 137
"PORKY" 141
THE TONSORIAL ARTIST AT WORK 144
READY FOR THE START 147
APPROACHING THE LOW PASS 149
HOME OF THE WHITE SHEEP 151
SEEKING A FORD 155
PTARMIGAN 167
A BATH IN LAKE SKILAK 174
BAY OF ISLANDS 185
CONSTRUCTING A RAFT 186
ONE TOOK TO THE WOODS 187
ONE OF THE OTHERS 188
TRAILING ARBUTUS 190
SPOTTED SANDPIPER'S NEST 192
MERGANSER'S NEST 194
NEST OF WILSON'S THRUSH 195
LEARNING TO SWIM 199
OUT FOR THEMSELVES 200
LEARNING TO WALK 201
REFLECTIONS 202
RADIANT SPLENDOR 206
WHISKEY JACK 208
NEST AND EGGS OF THE WHITE-THROATED SPARROW 209
BUNCHBERRIES 213
THE "STEADY" 215
SOLITUDE 217
BREAKFAST HEAD ON THE HUMBER RIVER 219
COLOR BLENDING 224
PUTTING IN THE FERRET 226
HIS LAST NIBBLE 229
IN HOT PURSUIT 230
PICKED UP 231
DOWN THE OLD FENCE 233
THE DOG LISTENING TO THE LAST SOUND 235
DID HE COME OUT? 236
THE HUNTING PARTY 239
DOG AND COON IN THE MIX-UP 244
HOME OF THE CARDINAL 249
CARDINAL'S NEST AND EGGS 252
WINTER IN THE NORTH 254
INDIGO BUNTING'S NEST WITH COWBIRD'S EGG 256
THE YOUNG INTERLOPER 258
A WELL-CONSTRUCTED HOME 259
MADAM VIREO AT HOME 260
THE USURPER 262
YOUNG FLICKERS 265
NEST AND EGGS OF TANAGER 267
LITTLE GREEN HERON'S NEST 268
LITTLE GREEN HERON'S NEST 269
LEAVING THE NEST 270
NEST AND EGGS OF GROSBEAK 272
NESTLINGS 273
FLEDGLINGS 274
TOM AT THE NEST 275
NEST AND EGGS OF BLUE-GRAY GNAT-CATCHER 276
NEST AND YOUNG OF GOLDFINCH 277
RED-SPOTTED PURPLE BUTTERFLY ON QUEEN ANNE'S LACE 278
YOUNG GOLDFINCH 280
NEST OF RED-WING BLACKBIRD 282
YOUNG RED-WING BLACKBIRDS 283
HOMES OF THE CLIFF SWALLOWS 285
NEST OF THE SONG SPARROW 287
A TRAGEDY IN NATURE 288
WOOD-THRUSH 289
NEST AND EGGS OF WOOD-THRUSH 290
UP A STUMP 291
WOOD-THRUSH'S NEST WITH YOUNG 292
NEST AND EGGS OF AMERICAN REDSTART 294
LADY REDSTART AND HER HOME 295
NEST AND EGGS OF BLUE-WINGED WARBLER 296
YOUNG WOODPECKERS FORAGING 297
NEST AND EGGS OF THE THRASHER 299
ON NIGHT TURN 300
YOUNG THRASHER 301
A DELIGHTFUL PLACE 306
CAUGHT 307
NEST AND EGGS OF RUFFED GROUSE 313
NOT CERTAIN 315
A SURE POINT 317
ORCHARD NEST OF MOURNING DOVE 318
TWO LITTLE TURTLE-DOVES 320
Trails and Tramps in Alaska and Newfoundland
CHAPTER I
CRUISING AND HUNTING IN SOUTHEASTERN ALASKA
In the midst of the rustling and bustling on the pier, the creaking of
the block and tackle, and the hoisting of the duffel, could be heard the
loud, clear voice of the mate resounding in the evening twilight, "Heave
to!" "That's well," and similar expressions, all preparatory to our
departure for the far-away North, the land of glaciers, gold, and fish.
In the crowd were many sorts and conditions of men--and not the least in
evidence were the sturdy Norseman and the Scottish clansman,--some on
pleasure bent, some in search of the mighty beasts of the forest, still
others seeking their fortune in the vast gold-fields stretching on and
on into the great unknown beyond the Arctic Circle.
Among the ever-changing groups of humanity, my attention was attracted
to one, the center of which was a young man about one and twenty. As the
time drew near for our departure, around him gathered four or five young
ladies, who to all appearances were in sore distress. An only brother,
perhaps, was about to leave home and friends to seek his fortune in the
Land of the Midnight Sun. The old father, grizzled and gray, stood by
with dejected countenance and folded hands, the very picture of despair.
Presently one of the girls--the boy's sweetheart, as I afterwards
learned,--unable longer to stand the strain, threw her arms about her
lover and wept bitterly. What expressions of sadness upon the faces of
those left behind as the lamplight casts its pallid rays over them! And
now one staggers and falls into the arms of a friend. Then what a look
of grief upon the face of the young man peering over the ship's rail!
Such is the pathos of life at every turn, could we but see it.
[Illustration: Ketchikan]
On board the steamer was the Hon. Walter L. Fisher, Secretary of the
Interior, and his party, consisting of his son Walter, Alfred H.
Brooks, of the Geological Surveys Committee, Governor W. E. Clark of
Alaska, and reporters of various newspapers. Their mission was to
investigate the condition and wants of the people of Alaska. The genial
and pleasant old sea-dog, Captain Michael Jansen, was at the helm as the
steamer wedged her way towards the north.
For some two hundred miles we skirted the eastern shore of Vancouver
Island, lined to the water's edge with hemlock, spruce, and cedar,
through which occasionally bluish-white streaks of water came tumbling
down the mountain-side, each adding its own particular charm to the
scenery. The English Government has erected along the coast many
lighthouses for the protection of navigation, but after we passed
through Dixon's Entrance into Uncle Sam's domain, very few of these were
to be seen. Our Government seems to have given too little attention to
this matter.
[Illustration: Myriads of Salmon]
The first stop on the way north was Ketchikan, a little village nestled
snugly at the foothills, with its hospital, saloons, and all the usual
adjuncts of a mining town. It has a population of some five hundred
souls, whose principal occupation consists of fishing and mining. The
most interesting thing to sightseers was a stroll up the boardwalk
laid along a narrow winding stream that has its origin in the
snow-capped mountains. Pitching, tossing, and foaming it hurried down
the narrow gulch, seeking its level in the briny deep. It was alive with
myriads of salmon, jumping and leaping in their mad rush to the spawning
ground.
* * * * *
In the dawn of the following morning the boat plowed its way through the
green waters of the Strait toward Annette Island, a strip of land
covered to the water's edge with fir and cedar trees. The island is some
six miles long, and at the extreme end, on a small, gently sloping
plateau, is the little town of Metlakatla, which boasts a population of
about a thousand persons. It has its own canneries, saw-mills, and other
industries, and the people seem to be happy and contented. At the head
of the colony is Rev. William Duncan, who has done much for the uplift
of the many tribes of Indians in this locality.
[Illustration: Father Duncan]
"Father" Duncan relates that more than half a century ago, when a young
man of twenty-five, he was living in England. Upon his ordination as a
minister of the Established Church, Alaska was assigned him as the
field of his future life-work. His passage was paid and he arrived at
Victoria after a nine-months trip. The old man was very much agitated in
relating his early experience. On reaching Victoria, he of course
desired to enter at once upon his active duties, but the head official
of the town and the captain of the boat used every means in their power
to persuade him from going among the Indians, urging that they were
bloodthirsty savages and would surely kill him. He told them that he was
assigned to the field by the Board and could not think of changing his
plan without an order from his superiors, to procure which would
require at least two years. He must get to his labor of love right away.
However, he made one request of the officer in charge of the fort, and
it was this: he would like to spend about nine months with them in the
stockade, and wished they would send for the brightest young man of the
most powerful tribe, so that he might learn the language before going
among the savages. They granted his request, and in nine months he was
ready to deliver his first sermon.
[Illustration: Metlakatla]
[Illustration: Guest House]
The Indians were divided into various tribes, each at war with the
other. He thought if he could succeed in getting the chiefs together
and could tell them the Word of God in their own language, he would more
readily win their confidence and esteem. So he requested his interpreter
to call together all the chiefs to one central point, where he would
deliver his first sermon. "But oh!" he said, "when I saw before me the
assembled braves, decorated in all the colors of the rainbow, my courage
left me, and turning to my teacher, I begged of him to deliver the
message I had so carefully prepared to the gathered tribesmen. But he
positively refused, and told me his intrusion might cause a war, for
the tribes were very jealous of the power and influence of their
neighbors. Then I took courage and when I had spoken, oh! what an effect
it had upon them! Bodies were rigid and eyes seemed as though they would
pierce me through and through. The results were striking. They gathered
around in little groups, earnestly discussing the truths made known to
them and wondering who could be and whence came this strange white man
who spoke their own tongue.
[Illustration: "Father" Duncan's Church]
"From that day I became absorbed in my work. For thirty years I labored
among them at Old Metlakatla, when one day I was told that the natives
did not own the land and that the title was vested in the Queen of
England. The Indians could not understand how a sovereign whom they had
never seen could own the land over which they and their ancestors had
roamed for centuries, fishing, hunting, and trapping.
[Illustration: Where the Indians Roamed]
* * * * *
[Illustration: Street Scene in Metlakatla]
"I went down to Vancouver to examine into the matter, and the Premier
and Attorney-General advised me that such was the case. I was fearful
lest when the Indians learned this fact they would go on the war-path
and kill every white man in the country. I wrote a long letter to them
explaining conditions and saying that I would be back home to Old
Metlakatla as soon as I could. Shortly afterwards, much to my surprise,
a committee came to Vancouver to confer with me. When I saw them I was
greatly excited for fear they had decided upon war. When I inquired of
them what had been done at the meeting, they refused to tell me, so that
I was considerably worried over the matter. Although it was late in the
evening, I went immediately to the Attorney-General's home to advise him
of the situation. I told him I would give him all the information I had
that evening, but to-morrow, after I had learned the action taken, I
could not divulge a single word. I did not sleep much that night, and in
the morning, when I met the committee, imagine my relief when they told
me they had decided to leave English territory and seek a new home under
the Stars and Stripes. Shortly after that I went to Washington to
arrange matters, if possible, for a new location. I finally succeeded;
the United States Government gave Annette Island to my people for their
home, and here we have built the new Metlakatla."
[Illustration: Metlakatla Belles]
* * * * *
"Father" Duncan does not believe in educating the Indian children as
they are taught at Carlisle and similar institutions. Once while he was
visiting Carlisle at Commencement time, the orator of the day advised a
graduating class to go out among the white people and do as the whites
did. Speaking of the occasion, he remarked: "I thought as I listened,
'Oh, what a mistake for them to leave their fathers and mothers, now too
old to work, and become worthless and idle, unfitted for the duties of
life!'" With deep emotion the old man pointed across the woods toward
the cemetery, and said: "Over yonder lie the remains of about thirty
young men, the pick of their tribe, who attended such schools, adopted
the white man's mode of living, and contracted tuberculosis, to which
they fall ready victims. They are by nature so constituted that they
require outdoor life and outdoor exercise."
While "Father" Duncan was talking, the Secretary of the Interior came
out of the Town Hall, where he had been holding a conference with the
Town Council, and he and "Father" Duncan walked down the boardwalk
toward the cannery and from there to the boat. As the steamer was about
to depart, the passengers gave three rousing cheers for the grand old
man who had spent fifty-five years of useful life among these simple
children of nature. Scarcely had the echo of the last cheer resounded
from the hills about the bay, when, as the steamer left the wharf, the
Indians gave three mightier cheers for the Secretary and another three
for Governor Clark.
[Illustration: Indians Cheering the Secretary]
About midnight of the third day the fog-horn began to blow, repeating
the blast every ten minutes or more, and the engine bells tinkled,
tinkled all through the night. Sleep being out of the question, we were
up early the next morning, and to our great surprise were informed by
the pilot that the _Wizard of the Northern Sea_ had been caught in the
fog and had traveled scarcely a mile; in fact, we were obliged to return
from the Narrows and wait for the fog to lift. As the old pilot
expressed it: "Great Golly! it was a bad night, without a place to throw
the anchor and the current running miles an hour." The old sea-dog had a
fine face, carved with stern lines. As he related with his Danish accent
the stories of how two men-of-war and several other vessels had met
their doom in those waters, hundreds on board going down, the little
group was all attention. Even as he talked, he pointed out the partly
concealed rocks where the men-of-war had met their fate, and over which
the water now broke in innocent-looking ripples.
After thirteen hours waiting for flood tide and the lifting of the fog,
we steamed slowly through Wrangel Narrows. What a sight as the sun
dispelled the fog! I have seen at night in a puddling mill a ball of
molten metal on its way from the furnace to the "squeezers" and, when
"soused" with water, emitting a blue flame and vapor. The sun at
Wrangel Narrows was such a ball of molten metal, while the fog clinging
to the leeward side of the mountain peaks was the vapor, and the peaks
and crags with heads towering far above the clouds were the stacks and
beams of a monster mill. Occasionally as we glide along, aquatic birds
soar through the air in search of their morning meal; blackfish sport in
the water, their fins cutting the surface as they disappear into the
depths; and now a little snipe, flying around and around, trying to
alight on the vessel, causes a stir among the passengers. A short
distance away appears the head of a seal, evidently in search of its
prey, and the leaping fish tell the rest of the story. How many things
appeal to the lover of nature!
On account of the swift current and concealed rocks, the Narrows can be
navigated with safety only in daylight, and I learned that the policy
issued by marine insurance companies contains a clause under which no
recovery can be had in event of accident to a steamer while passing
through the Narrows by night.
Here and there lay an old hull cast high and dry on the rocks, after
being tossed and pitched about in the powerful currents until it was
battered and broken out of all resemblance to a boat. The old _Portland_
was pointed out in the distance, not yet a complete wreck, her mast
erect, hull submerged, and the breakers booming and splashing over her.
A feeling of sadness came over at least one of the party at the pleasant
recollections of a former hunting trip made on the _Portland_ with the
big-hearted and greatly beloved Captain Moore, who has since passed over
the Great Divide.
[Illustration: Totems at Sitka]
[Illustration: Indian War Canoe]
Wrangel, the next port of entry, was reached in due time. To the
tourists the most noteworthy objects are the totem-poles. Indian
totem-poles are erected in even the smallest Indian settlements along
the coast as far north as Sitka. Visitors are always interested in their
picturesque carving. All kinds of grotesque figures of birds, animals,
and fish are cut into the smooth surface of trees after the bark is
removed. Contrary to what seems to be a very general belief, the natives
do not worship totem-poles as idols, but regard them as a sort of family
register. When a great event takes place, in order that it may be
commemorated, they erect a totem; a successful hunter in the tribe
becomes well known for his deeds of valor,--straightway he selects a
family crest and up goes his totem, tinted with all the colors of the
rainbow. Sometimes the poles illustrate legends handed down from
generation to generation,--the stories and traditions of this
simple-minded people. Ages ago, according to "Father" Duncan, the
Indians adopted totems or crests to distinguish the social clans into
which the race is said to be divided, and each clan is represented
symbolically by some character, such as the finback whale, the grizzly
bear, the frog, the eagle, etc. All Indian children take the crest of
their mother and they do not regard the members of their father's
family as relatives. Therefore a man's heir or his successor is not his
own son, but his sister's son. Not often can an Indian be persuaded to
rehearse to a stranger the story represented by the carvings on a pole.
Here is a legend which is told of one totem-pole: A very long time ago
an old chief with his wife and two small children pitched his wigwam at
the mouth of a stream when the salmon were running to spawn. The old
squaw, in order to get some spruce boughs with which to gather salmon
eggs, pushed her _bidarka_, or sealskin boat, into the water, and
telling her two little papooses to get into the boat, paddled them
across the stream. As she pulled the _bidarka_ up on the other shore she
instructed the children to remain in the boat till she returned. She
came back in a short time with her load, only to discover that the
children were gone. Many times she called to them, but always they
answered to her from the woods with the voices of crows, and when she
tried to follow them they would keep calling to her from some other
direction. She returned to the boat again, gave up the children for
lost, and going back to the wigwam reported to the chief that an old
white trapper with a big beard had carried away the two little children.
To commemorate this event they had a totem-pole carved to show the beard
of the white trapper, and frequently point it out as an example to
refractory children.
* * * * *
Our next stop was at Petersburg, a typical Alaskan town, with its
cannery, saw-mill, and myriads of herring gulls on the wing and on the
water. The old totem-poles which had stood for many, many years, worn
almost smooth by the constant beating of the elements, excited a great
deal of curiosity, and made one wish for some occult power wherewith to
read the mysteries of the past. At one pole the party, consisting of
several doctors, was much absorbed, and after considerable study
deciphered the figure of an old witch doctor carved on the top and below
it what seemed to be a squaw, which they interpreted as very suggestive
of the operation of laparotomy.
[Illustration: Petersburg]
A few miles from Petersburg we saw the first ice floe with its deep
marine coloring, floating slowly towards the open sea. Two days and
nights of continual rain were very oppressive and trying on sociability,
but when the welcome sun reappeared, how enjoyable was the contrast! The
mountain-sides in the foreground, clad with verdure from the base half
way to the snowy summit, had for a background the arched dome of the
heavens, filled with vari-colored clouds. Here and there streams of
crystal water coursed down the mountain-side, whence each took a final
leap over the rocks into the boiling and seething maelstrom, throwing
spray in every direction.
[Illustration: Streams of Crystal Water]
An interesting visit was had to the Treadwell mine, where the voice of
man could not be heard above the noise of the many stamp mills pounding
away, crushing the low-grade ores. At six o'clock the day shift is
leaving the mines and the night force entering. As the up cage
discharges its load of human freight the down cage is ready, packed so
tightly that it would be almost impossible for a passenger to turn
sideways. Down into the perpendicular shaft for several hundred feet the
miners descended, and from there they scattered through the entries
drifted out underneath the bay, where the best paying rock is to be
found.
Juneau, the capital of Alaska, almost directly across from the mines,
was our next stopping-place. The deck hands, at the command of the first
officer, threw out the gang-plank. Before it was rightly adjusted, the
crowd was waiting eagerly to get ashore. The dock was wet and slippery,
for it was raining as usual, the low-hanging clouds shutting out the
view of the snow-covered mountain-tops in the background. All hunters in
the party made straightway for the Governor's office to secure licenses
at fifty dollars apiece, which entitled each one to shoot two bull
moose. But in order that a trophy may be brought out of Alaska, the Act
of Congress makes it obligatory to pay an additional fee of one hundred
and fifty dollars. It seems to me absurd to permit the killing of moose
and to encourage leaving the trophies where they fall. A subsequent
experience on the Kenai River bore out this conclusion very forcibly. On
the river we came across a party of hunters from Texas who had killed a
very large moose having a noble spread of horn. The body was left to rot
on the shore. One of our party who did not care to shoot would gladly
have taken the trophy home to decorate his den, but the one hundred and
fifty dollars was strictly prohibitory. I am satisfied this party killed
several moose and left them because the trophies would not justify the
additional cost of bringing them out.
We spent several hours in Juneau sending cablegrams and watching a black
bear chained in the middle of the main street. He was walking around and
around, as though guarding the entrance to the town. Every person
passing kept a safe distance, but occasionally a visitor unawares
approached too near and afforded fun for the onlookers when he made a
desperate get-away.
[Illustration: Lighthouse near Dixon's Entrance]
[Illustration: Sitka]
Leaving Juneau the boat turned south quite a distance in order to reach
Sitka. Some time was lost waiting for high tide before we could get
through the Narrows, full tide being about eleven o'clock P.M. The night
was very dark and the fog thick, making it difficult to keep the boat in
the channel. As the old Dane afterwards said, we could keep our course
only by noting the echo of the fog-horn as it reverberated among the
distant hills; but with great skill we were taken safely through, and
when morning dawned clear and bright, we found we were fast approaching
Sitka. Many interesting things were to be seen from the deck as we
glided over the water. The reflection of the mountains was beautiful and
one could scarcely distinguish the real shore line. Here and there an
old bald eagle (_Haliætus leucocephalus_) stood sentinel on some dead
tree-top, while the great blue heron (_Ardea herodias_) waded along the
edge of the water in search of something to eat. Thus we were
entertained for hours as we neared Sitka. About noon the shrill blast of
the whistle reminded us that the town was in sight. Just as soon as the
gang-plank was lowered there was a rush for shore, and every person was
on his way to see the sights of Sitka.
[Illustration: Priests of the Greek Church at Sitka]
The town was founded in 1799 by Governor Baranoff, a Russian explorer,
and is beautifully situated on Baranoff Island. The old Russian Greek
church stood there just as it did a hundred years before, with the
exception of a new coat of paint, and the priests were in their church
garb as of yore. Tourists always visit the old church to see the
magnificent Madonna and other paintings brought over from Russia in the
last century. On the main street stands the old log-cabin erected many
years ago by the Hudson Bay Company and used as a trading post. The
Government has set aside a reservation for a public park, and many
totem-poles have been set up all along the roadway. Indian squaws were
squatted on the dock selling their little trinkets, such as miniature
totem-poles, sealskin moccasins, and vases carved in many forms.
While leaving Sitka the picturesque snow-crowned Mount Edgecumbe
serrated the horizon on the left, and on the right the sky-line was much
the same. Both shores were advancing nearer and nearer, and it looked as
though we were in a cul-de-sac. Presently we passed through Icy Straits,
so named because of the many icebergs which, broken from a neighboring
glacier, find their way hither.
[Illustration: Fairweather Range]
As we reached the open ocean, "Gony," as the sailors call the
black-footed albatross (_Diomedea nigripes_), followed in the wake of
the steamer, porpoise raced with us, rushing and dodging alongside the
boat, occasionally turning their silver bellies skyward and flaunting
their tails to show how easy it was for them to keep up with us. The
race continued at intervals for more than an hour before they
disappeared, and by that time the long swells of the water rocking the
steamer had taken effect and many of the passengers disappeared from the
decks. Many miles to the right the purple foothills of the Fairweather
range could be seen. Muir Glacier glittering in the distance added to
the fascination of the scenery. Along the coast wild strawberries, with
their delicate flowers, their fruit sought alike by man, beast, and
fowl, grew very abundantly. The weather was just fine and the conditions
right (something unusual in this neighborhood) to see the great Mount
St. Elias, at least a hundred and fifty miles due north, and her English
cousin, Mount St. Logan, farther off across the border line. The
Fairweather range extends for many miles along the coast. The white ice
fields glitter in the sunshine and at sunset a halo of many colors hangs
over the mountains.
[Illustration: Upper Ice Fields]
[Illustration: The Author Looking into a Crevasse]
Alaska seems to be a chosen land for glaciers. The warm Japan stream
washes the coast line, the topography of which is well adapted to
fashion glaciers out of the heavy snowfall precipitated by the cooling
of the humid air as it strikes the mountains. When the lofty summits and
surrounding fields have accumulated more snow than they are able to
retain, it gradually advances toward the valleys. When it leaves the
summit it is soft and flaky, but alternate thawing and freezing
gradually change its condition into a granulated form of ice. The
pressure of the great body of snow above, the change of the atmospheric
conditions, assisted by gravity, are the causes which enter into the
formation of the solid glacier ice. These conditions may be increased or
diminished by earthquakes and mild winters. Like a great river it
advances toward the mouth of the valley, and as the immense body of ice
moves downward, it brings with it by erosion huge pieces of rock, earth,
and trees. This debris thrown upon the ice is called moraine, and where
the moraine gathers the thickest it protects the ice. When the hot
summer sun thaws the unprotected ice, tiny streamlets flow from here and
there. These gradually increase in number and size, and as they grow
larger and larger cut their way down into the ice, forming deep
crevasses, and finally reach bedrock. The interior color of the
crevasses is a deep blue and this changes to a light blue at the outer
edge where exposed to light. Standing on the brink one can throw a huge
boulder into the opening and hear it rumbling for some time before it
reaches the bottom. A glacier that is receding slowly is known locally
as a dead glacier, and one advancing as a live glacier. However, a live
glacier may become a dead one, and _vice versa_. A dead glacier has
frequently readvanced after years of inactivity, carrying with it trees
which had grown up in its course. Columbia glacier in Prince William
Sound is an example of this type.
A tiny snowflake falls on the mountain-top, is covered in turn by many
others, and disappears for many years. Gradually the whole mass, by its
own weight, is pushed down into the valley and solidified. Not a ray of
light can penetrate through the thick glacier ice; the little snowflake
has been completely immured. After years, perhaps centuries, it finally
reappears at sea level, with myriads of others of its kind congealed
into one solid mass, which breaks off and floats seaward, clothed in
beautiful blue. But it is such a cold, heartless beauty, for until
melted away the little snowflake is part of a tremendous mass, whose
weight and silent progress are a constant and dreaded menace to human
life; many a steamer has been sunk by striking an iceberg.
At the head of Yakutat Bay is situated the Indian village of Yakutat. It
has its cannery and saw-mill and village church, in which last is a
large and very interesting totem carved out of the butt of a tree. I
have heard it said that these poles are not found north of Sitka. This
one is several hundred miles farther north. There is only the one, and
it may have been a trophy or a gift. I was unable to get any account of
its past or any interpretation of its symbolic carvings.
[Illustration: Native Women Trading]
Before we landed we noticed the natives coming from every possible
direction; some in their canoes, others walking, but all loaded down
with their trinkets to sell to the passengers on the steamer. When we
landed on the dock the women were squatting on the floor, all in a row,
displaying their goods. When a kodak was pointed at them they concealed
their faces and demanded "two bits" as the price of a shot. There was
among them a young mother with her babe whom I was anxious to
photograph, but her price was higher and I was required to raise the
amount to "eight bits" before she would step out into the sun for a
snap-shot. I was afraid to take a time picture for fear she would "shy"
before I got it.
[Illustration: Mother and Babe]
[Illustration: Playing in the Sand]
The old village, up the shore about a mile, was reached by a narrow walk
along the coast line. The walk through the sparsely-growing spruce and
cottonwood was delightful. Ravens flew about here and there, hoarsely
calling as we passed by. The undergrowth consisted principally of berry
bushes--salmon-berries, blueberries, and red raspberries--and as we
walked along we gathered handfuls of the luscious fruit from each in
turn as our taste inclined. When we reached the village with its wide
beach--for the tide was out--our attention was attracted toward a couple
of the native belles, who were sitting tracing on the sand with their
fingers images of fish, birds, and animals. We approached suddenly,
cutting off their retreat. Being naturally shy and timid they ceased
writing, and when they saw us point the camera toward them, turned their
backs. I suggested to my friend that he walk around to the opposite
side, take out his kodak as though to photograph them, and when they
turned around I would take a snap, which ruse worked admirably.
[Illustration: Native Boys out Gunning]
Abandoning the party at this point, I took a stroll through the woods.
There I happened upon half a dozen native boys shooting at a mark with
guns. They were not aware of my presence until one of the boys standing
apart from the others noticed what I was doing. Before he got away,
however, I had his image on the film. I walked away a few steps and sat
down on a log to put in a new film. When I lifted my head, to my
surprise every last one of the little rascals had me covered with his
gun. One emphatic sentence from me wilted their timid spirits and they
skulked away.
[Illustration: Sunset near St. Elias]
The attractive feature of Yakutat is a favorable view of Mt. St. Elias.
When we were going up the bay the heavy clouds shrouded the mountain,
obstructing our view, and how disappointed were the passengers as the
boat steamed on toward the head of the bay, where the nearer peaks would
shut off our view of St. Elias, even if other conditions had been
favorable! But when we were leaving the harbor the same day the
atmospheric conditions were just right to array the scene in all its
splendor. The air was filled with low floating clouds fringed with the
most brilliant colors from the setting sun, and as the clouds lifted,
the purple foothills added splendor and enchantment to the slope that
extended its snow-capped peak eighteen thousand feet into the blue
concave of the heavens. Up to this time aboard our ship peace,
happiness, and sociability reigned supreme, but when the open waters of
the Pacific were reached and the "woollies," as the fierce blasts from
the icy ranges are called by the sailors, struck us, tossing the spray
over the pitching, rocking, and quivering steamer, sociability
disappeared and peace and happiness left the faces of all the
passengers, while the pallor of death overspread blooming countenances.
Thereupon the fishes became alert and the herring gulls, gracefully
soaring in the wake of the steamer, uttered their hungry call of
expectation. Surely 'tis an ill wind that blows no good.
[Illustration: Cape St. Elias]
The steamer belched forth the smoke from its stack as we moved slowly
along the coast toward Katella harbor, the next port of entry. For fifty
miles on the right of us could be seen the terminal edge of the famous
Malaspina glacier, looking like the white crest of breakers crashing
against a rocky coast. Ahead of us appeared Cape St. Elias, one of the
most picturesque promontories of Alaska. Its divided point projected a
long way into the ocean and the captain gave it a wide berth.
* * * * *
On reaching Controller Bay the good ship anchored in the poor harbor.
Presently a boat, hailing from the revenue cutter _Tahoma_, pulled by
eight sturdy seamen dressed in their clean, picturesque suits of blue
and white, drew near the side of the steamer, and the officer in charge,
tall and erect, a fine specimen of manhood, came up the rope ladder and
made straight toward Secretary Fisher. In a short time one of the seamen
was on the top deck gesticulating with hat and handkerchief to the
cutter in the distance. On the cutter could be seen against the sky-line
an ensign going through similar signs in answer to the instructions
given. The Secretary and his party left the steamer very quietly without
a cheer, and as he arrived on the cutter the booming of the cannon,
repeated nineteen times, signaled the reception of the party.
Controller Bay is not a natural harbor and the problem it presents is
whether an engineer can construct at a reasonable cost an artificial
harbor that will protect vessels from the terrific gales that sweep the
coast during the winter months. Engineers differ on this matter; some
say that the solution of the problem is a great dike constructed of
concrete, and others think that a wall could not be built strong enough
to withstand the powerful currents and massive ice floes of Controller
Bay, and for this reason it is believed that the only terminal
facilities for the Behring coal fields are at Cordova, by water some
hundred miles farther north.
At the present time a railroad is being built up the Copper River
valley, which is the natural gateway to the great coal and copper
deposits of the interior and the rich Tanana Valley. In constructing a
railroad up this valley serious difficulties must be overcome. The
question of labor is very important. Because of the continual rains and
the short open season the highest wages must be paid. To get up the
valley, it is necessary to cross the Copper River between two glaciers,
and the topography of the country is such that it is a difficult
engineering feat to construct a roadbed that will not be carried away by
the spring freshets and the glaciers, which are continually changing.
Miles and Childs glaciers vary in their movements, at times receding and
again advancing, controlled by forces which are not fully understood.
* * * * *
[Illustration: Hinchinbrook Island]
[Illustration: Valdez after the Flood]
[Illustration: Bruin in a Steel Trap]
Leaving Katella we soon pass Cape Hinchinbrook, where several steamers
have been cast ashore and wrecked upon the rocky coast. Entering Prince
William Sound we find the water smoother and a pleasant run is made to
Cordova, the present terminus of the Copper River Railroad. Our next
stop was Valdez, with its land-locked harbor. The town is built
practically on the moraine of a glacier. Sometimes the channel of a
glacier stream changes; in the year 1911 such a change took place and
carried away about half of the town. In order to prevent a similar
accident in the future, the citizens turned out and constructed a levee
of logs, rocks, and sand. Valdez glacier extends down from the summit a
distance of twenty miles, the foot being about five miles from the
town. During the winter of 1898 gold was first discovered near Center
City in the interior. The excitement was great at Valdez, some seven
thousand men gathering from all parts of the States to seek their
fortunes. So great was the rush for the gold-fields that one continuous
procession of prospectors, carrying all kinds of outfits, passed
northward over the glacier. The following year many perished on their
way out. My guide carried the mail that year, and on one trip found
seven men who had frozen to death, having been caught in a storm on the
glacier. The whole party were very weak on account of scurvy and unable
to reach Valdez. When found, two were lashed to sleds and one was
sitting on a piece of ice, his head resting on his hands. On the same
trip my guide came upon an old miner frozen to death, still holding to
the handle of his dog sleigh, while the dog lay curled up in a ball,
still alive and still in the harness.
After spending several days at Valdez, arrangements were made with the
captain of the _Hammond_ for a small boat to take us about fifty miles
south into Gravenna Bay. Our little skiff was towed behind all day, and
at five o'clock in the evening we were informed by the captain that he
was afraid to go up the bay any farther for fear of striking a rock.
Consequently our camping outfit had to be piled into our dory in a
pouring rain, and after the captain gave two gongs, as the pilot
shouted, "Great luck, boys!" the tug left us and disappeared around the
cape in the distance. And here we were, fifty miles from human
habitation, dependent for our return to civilization upon making
connections with this same little tug at its next visit a month later.
Prepared for the rain with rubber boots and oilcoats, we pulled towards
the head of the bay, before the wind and on a flowing tide, so that our
little craft fairly glided over the water. About twilight we pitched
camp in a drenching rain. If there is one thing more than another which
dampens the enthusiasm for the wild, it is making camp with everything
soaked. But by perseverance in due time we were getting our supper,
snugly housed in our eight by ten tent, and happier than kings in a
royal palace. To the music of the rain I soon fell asleep.
In the morning consciousness was restored by the "quack, quack" of the
ducks and the splash of the salmon running to their spawning
ground,--the occasional wriggling splash of an old "humpback" who had
run up the shore too far and was trying to get back into deeper water,
the loud splash of the high jumper, and the faint swish of the thousands
on their way to fresh water. After breakfast I donned my hunting outfit
and strolled along the beach until I reached the mouth of a small creek
which flowed into the bay. I was amazed at the number of humpback salmon
(_Oncorhynchus gorbuscha_) ascending the stream to spawn, some green and
fresh from the briny deep, others changed to a dark lead color by
contact with the fresh water, and others, struggle-worn, almost
without scales or skin to cover their bodies. They were running
upstream by the thousands.
[Illustration: Salmon Running Up Stream to Spawn]
* * * * *
[Illustration: Killing Fish with a Club]
[Illustration: Gulls Feeding on Salmon]
[Illustration: A Good Fisherman]
[Illustration: Dogs Fishing for Salmon]
There was a flock of red-breasted mergansers (_Merganser serrator_) on a
pool nearby. I crept quietly to the brink, and, hat off, peeped over.
After the shot was fired it was interesting to see the flock trying to
dive; the fish were so thickly massed that the ducks could not get below
the surface of the water. This disturbance caused a rush of the fish and
they madly churned the water in their efforts to get away from an
imaginary enemy. In shallow riffles the fish were so crowded that it
was almost impossible to wade across the stream without being thrown by
tramping upon them or tripped by others trying to get away. Closer
observation showed them in pairs, rooting their noses into the sand and
gravel to make a hole; in this the female deposited the eggs and the
male covered them with a milky substance, both turning sideways at the
same time and both flapping their tails in covering the spawn.
Frequently I could see two males or two females fighting each other,
striking with their tails and biting like dogs, trying to get possession
of a hole in the sand in which the spawn might be deposited. Looking at
the horde all tattered and torn, I could not but admire their pluck and
perseverance in ascending the stream over stones and other obstacles,
with scarcely enough water to cover half their bodies, in order that the
laws of nature might be obeyed and the species propagated. When the tide
went out many were caught high and dry on the shore, and became a prey
for birds and beasts. Thousands of gulls gathered daily, feeding on the
dead fish, and almost invariably picking out the eyes first, these
being the choicest morsels, according to their taste. I have frequently
come across fish still alive, though robbed of their eyes. Our first
method of getting fish was to arm ourselves with clubs, walk into the
shallow riffles, select some just fresh from the salt water and hit them
with our clubs. We abandoned this method because several were killed
before we got one that was fresh. We then tied a halibut hook on the end
of a pole and, sitting on a rock, waited until a fresh fish appeared. As
we caught sight of him some distance away we would gradually move the
hook into position and land him.
It rained for several days and nights, causing the water in the creek to
rise very high and run with considerable current. At this time the shore
was salmon-colored with eggs uncovered by the swift water. All the fresh
streams near camp were so polluted with dead fish that the water could
not be used, and we were obliged to go above for some distance to get
pure water.
* * * * *
Before leaving Valdez we had taken a little walk out from town, and came
across a small stream of pure ice-cold water that had its source in the
snow of the mountain. Occasionally could be seen salmon returning to
their spawning ground. I have no doubt that before Valdez was built the
stream was famous for the annual hordes of fish that returned to spawn
(and, as is believed by some, to die), but I was told that the number is
getting less and less and now only a very few frequent the stream. While
watching them our attention was drawn to a dog jumping into the water
and others splashing about, dashing first in one direction and then
another, trying to catch the fish. How amusing to see the fish dart
between the legs of their would-be captors, out of the shallows and
into deeper water! Occasionally the dogs would catch them and bring them
to shore. Had we had the dogs with us at Gravenna Bay, what sport we
might have had!
[Illustration: Indian Hut]
While writing my notes one evening I smelled something burning, and on
turning around saw our bed all ablaze, caught by a spark from the wood
fire. If the fire had caught in our absence it would have been a very
serious matter. Imagine our predicament to have been without food and
shelter, many miles from civilization.
[Illustration: Indian Graves]
On one of our side trips we happened upon an Indian and his family,
living in a little hut constructed of logs and other materials. He could
talk no English and we could not understand him. After exchanging
several grunts and shaking hands we started to go, when we noticed his
small boy coming towards us, holding out a paper in his hand. Opening
it, we found the following written in a legible hand: "To all to whom
these presents come: This is to notify all miners and trappers that
there are bear traps set in these diggings." My guide was always more
or less uneasy for fear of stepping into a steel trap set on a game
trail along the stream.
[Illustration: Indian Woman Repairing the Bidarka]
The vegetation along the banks of the creek was almost tropical in its
density, and when the fish were spawning, bear frequented the place to
catch their prey, which they carried to the bank and devoured. Often we
could see the remains of fish left partly consumed, indicating that the
bears had been disturbed at their meal. Doubtless they had heard the
commotion of the fish trying to get away from us as we ascended the
stream.
One day while paddling our little boat along the water's edge, my guide
called attention to an object in the distance which I was unable to make
out for some time, but which the experienced eye of the hunter had
observed a long way off, though he was unable to determine exactly what
it was. Finally, as we approached nearer, he exclaimed, "Caught his own
dog!" and sure enough, there was the Indian's dog caught in the steel
trap set for bear. The poor fellow was whining from pain, as though
pleading with us to release him. I wanted the guide to take him out, but
he said the dog might bite him and we had better notify the owner, for
even if released the dog could never reach home in his present
condition. While coming along he told the following story:
"Several years ago there were two white men trapping on a little stream
that emptied into the Copper River, and one of them was caught in a
steel trap. The bones between the knee and the ankle were crushed where
the huge iron jaws came together. After being in the trap for a long
time, by almost superhuman efforts he succeeded in extricating his leg.
Fortunately he was not far from his boat, and dragging himself over and
under fallen trees he reached the dory, almost exhausted. Taking the
oars he pulled several miles to reach his cabin. A day or two afterwards
I happened along and found the man suffering great pain, and saw that
unless the leg were taken off he would lose his life. We were a hundred
miles from a doctor, and before aid could reach him he would have died.
After talking the matter over with his partner, it was agreed that I was
to cut the leg off in order to save his life, if possible. All the tools
we had were a hunting knife and an old rusty saw which had hung in the
cabin for several years. We boiled water to clean the tools as well as
possible, inserted the end of the old saw in the fire to take off the
rust, retempered the teeth in bear oil, got deer sinews ready to tie the
arteries, and with these tools I cut the leg off. During the time I was
at work the injured man frequently advised us what to do. He recovered
from the operation in due time and is now alive and well." My guide
afterwards pointed the man out to me.
[Illustration: Sunrise]
In this location we spent about a week. We had no difficulty in killing
all the teal (_Nettium carolinensis_) and Canada geese (_Branta
canadensis_) that we cared to eat, and, when the tide was down, in
gathering all the clams desired. During the month that we spent in this
part of the country it rained continually, night and day, with the
exception of three days, which I spent in photographing. The sun would
burst through the clouds like a huge search-light, casting its rays upon
the tropical luxuriance of the underbrush, reflecting back a sparkling
radiance from myriads of tiny rain-drops. We changed our camp
occasionally for new grounds, and one evening we had pitched our tent
without pinning it down. It was raining, as usual, and after eating a
scanty meal we threw our blankets on the ground and retired early. Some
time in the night I heard the crackling of the rank grass. My first
impression was that there was a porcupine skulking near, but as we
listened my guide said, "There's a bear outside!" We had thrown down on
the grass at the edge of the tent what was left of a side of bacon, and
Mr. Bruin was trying to get it from under the canvas. I immediately
jumped up, grabbed my "405," and started towards the flap of the tent,
but about the time I reached it there came two loud "woofs," accompanied
by the sound of crashing bushes, and that was the last we heard of Old
Bruin.
[Illustration: Our Permanent Camp]
At the head of one of the fiords in the neighborhood, there was a
glacier of considerable size, and on looking over the desolation I half
expected to find a glacier bear (_Ursus emmonsi_). Comparatively little
is known about the habits of this animal. The only one in captivity is
in the public park at Seattle. It is a fine specimen, and as it walks up
and down behind the bars its wild nature seems to predominate in every
movement. In the adjoining cages are black and grizzly bears, but they
seem to be satisfied in captivity, while the glacier bear reminds one of
a hyena as it paces from end to end, occasionally throwing its head into
the air. The fur is a bluish black beneath, with outer grayish tips.
In the early morning I started alone in the direction of the dead
glacier, crossed the glacier stream easily to the opposite side, which
looked more inviting of access, working my way up over the lateral
moraine, searching among the crevasses, and now and again getting into a
"pocket," from which I had to retrace my steps. Towards evening I turned
homeward. When I reached the stream, I thought I had located the ford
where I had previously crossed, but on making the attempt, I found the
water too deep and swift. Many times I tried to cross at different
points, thinking each time I had found the ford. I would wade out into
the ice-cold stream until I felt the swift current almost lifting me off
my feet, and then would make a hasty return. It was beginning to get
dark and I was anxious to get home, so I lifted a large stone in my arm
to give me additional weight and started toward a little eddy,
cautiously feeling my way. When I reached the eddy I felt my feet
sinking in the sand. My first thought was of a quick-sand, and I shall
never forget the sensation as I hurriedly dropped the stone and made a
mad rush for shore. However, I finally succeeded in reaching the other
side safely. Before arriving at camp I heard the report of a gun from
the direction of home, for the guide had grown uneasy and thought I was
lost.
A few more days' experience in the rain, among the glaciers, then we
broke camp at high tide and drifted with the ebb flow out along the
shore until we reached the outermost projection of rocks, and there
awaited the return of the tug which would take us back to Valdez.