HUNTING BIG GAME ON THE KENAI PENINSULA
We arrived at Seldovia, on Cook's Inlet, on the evening of August 28th.
Between the steamer landing and the town, a creek, unbridged as yet,
enters the bay, and except at ebb tide the passengers are compelled to
cross the arm of the bay by rowboat. The tide being then at flood, it
was necessary to get a dory before we could reach the village. One of
the natives who hailed from the cannery nearby was the proud owner of an
old dugout. We knew the water was quite shallow across the arm of the
fiord, yet some of the party were fearful of the craft. We all got into
the boat, and how quickly the inexperienced displayed their awkwardness.
Instead of stepping carefully to the center they landed on the side,
causing the dugout to ship water. After righting matters we started
across, when "Clumsy," in trying to make himself comfortable, rocked
the craft and "Timid" gave peremptory commands to return, which we did.
Two of the party got out and the rest were landed safely on the other
shore. In a few hours we were all aboard a home-made tug of six tons
burden, called the _Bydarky_, and on our way up the inlet some sixty
miles to Kenai. We retired to our bunks shortly after the boat got under
way, and when we awoke in the morning we were lying at anchor near the
beach at Kenai. The captain of the boat, being very anxious to get out
on the tide, asked us to unload our duffel as quickly as possible, so
that he might start at once. In our haste we overlooked Doc's hand
satchel but did not discover this until too late.
Kenai is a little village built on a plateau overlooking the inlet, a
sixty-foot sand embankment down to the water's edge, lending it the
appearance of a fortified town. We ascended the road, entered the
post-office and store, and began to make inquiries about guides, boats,
and equipment. We soon learned that we could get white guides for ten
dollars per day and "keep," and natives for five dollars; white packers
for five dollars per day and "keep," natives for three dollars. After
scouring the village we found two licensed native guides and two packers
and gave them instructions to get our boats and provisions ready as
quickly as possible, so that we could leave on the next flood tide for
the Kenai River. In selecting guides and packers, I think it is a
mistake to take natives, as they are naturally indolent, lack the
interest the white man has in his work, are over-sensitive about their
treatment, and sulk upon the least provocation; and then one never can
impress upon them the eagerness of the party to secure, in the limited
time at its disposal, photographs of big game in its natural haunts, or
a desirable trophy. Time is the only object to them when they are out
with a party at five dollars a day. To illustrate, on this occasion we
had made an agreement with the head guide that the packers would go with
us for three dollars a day and "keep," but we were not out more than a
three days' "line" of the river until they demanded three fifty, and
when refused began to sulk and lag behind with their work, and for fear
they would leave us before we got up the river we were obliged to grant
their demand. Indeed, they will sometimes purposely lead parties away
from the best game country in order to keep them out as long as
possible.
The evening before we arrived at Kenai, two miners had come to town for
provisions and had sold their dust. They then started out for a good
time, landed in a "joint," consumed all the "houch," after which they
proceeded to "paint the town red." They succeeded fairly well, ended up
with broken heads and limbs, and with a bullet in the breast of one. In
the village was a doctor, some eighty years of age, who had long been in
the habit of locating for the summer at Kenai to practice medicine. When
the old man learned that there was a doctor in our party he looked us up
and invited a consultation. Doc accepted the invitation, and on
examination found the lead had entered the side, glanced around the
ribs, and embedded itself in the muscles. He was very much surprised to
find that the patient was wrapped in an extremely dirty towel, and
everything was filthy. He said to the local physician, "Are you not
afraid of the wound becoming infected?" Whereupon the latter informed
him that no pus ever formed in wounds in that country and that infection
was unknown. Our doctor made considerable inquiry about the matter, for
he was very much interested, and learned that this was true.
The man who did the shooting was arrested and placed in the custody of
the town bailiff, but was permitted to roam over the country at will.
The authorities well know, and so do the prisoners, that it would be
suicide of the worst form for the guilty to try to escape to the woods,
for it means death of the most horrible sort--by exposure and
starvation. The only avenue of escape was by boat that left twice a
week. Inquiring about the case on our return trip, we learned that the
commissioner had arrived, a day was fixed for hearing, the testimony was
beyond a doubt conclusive against the prisoner, and he was held without
bail for trial at Valdez, whither he was taken by the commissioner.
However, the injured man recovered and the gallows was again defrauded.
Our party consisted of four, and for brevity's sake we will call them
"Doc," "Old Sourdough," "Cheechalker," and "Esau." The provisions had
all been purchased at Seattle and packed carefully in water-proof bags
and cans. Many and varied were the suggestions made by the party as to
what should be taken along. Doc suggested talcum powder, frostilene, and
vaseline, with pills of various colors, red, white, and blue. He had a
special satchel well filled with antiseptics, anodynes, astringents,
styptics, and bactericides, but unfortunately for his peace of mind he
discovered, too late, that the precious satchel had been left on the
_Bydarky_, the little boat that brought us over from Seldovia to Kenai,
and there were no immediate prospects of recovering the important
parcel. Doc looked wistfully after the little boat disappearing in the
distance as it plowed its way through the tide-rifts, and submitted with
such grace as he could command to the chaffing of his companions.
By way of firearms Cheechalker (northern name for "tenderfoot") had
quite an assortment,--a ten-gauge shotgun with five hundred rounds of
ammunition, one Springfield army rifle, model of 1909, a Winchester
.30-.30, and several others. Cheechalker insisted upon his tin bathtub,
but Old Sourdough finally pacified him with a description of a bath _à
la Wilderness_. This is accomplished by erecting a tepee, like that the
Indians build, around a fire in a small depression filled with stones,
then, when the bather is ready, removing the fire and pouring water on
the stones, thus producing steam enough to open the pores of the skin,
after which a good rubbing at the hands of an Indian valet completes the
ablution. In this way one might get along for a few weeks at least
without his tub. For this substitute Cheechalker finally consented to
give up the useful article.
[Illustration: Kenai River]
Esau carefully selected a prospector's pick, gold pan, and shovel to do
a little prospecting on the side. In his telescope he had his
toothbrush, comb, hair-brush, manicure set, etc., which he considered
absolutely necessary for his personal comfort. He also carried his own
knife and fork, tin cup, and tin plate, each artistically marked with
his own symbol.
Old Sourdough watched these arrangements with an expression of disgust.
He carried a red bandanna handkerchief dangling from his belt,
containing his change of socks, some smoking tobacco, and matches. Later
he improvised a very serviceable pipe by fitting a shot cartridge shell
with a split willow stem, artistically wrapped with thread.
After the packing was completed we embarked upon the Kenai River in two
twenty-foot dories, with the tide in our favor. The river meandered like
a wriggling snake for about a mile through the marshy flats; beyond, the
shore was lined to the water's edge with cottonwood, birch, and spruce.
On our way, ducks, geese, and many other water-fowl were flushed by the
noise of the oars in the locks and the splash of the blades as they
dipped into the water. The guides were making all haste, being anxious
to get as far up the river as possible, knowing it was no mean task to
pull, line, and pole the mile or more to the head of tide water without
the aid of full tide.
When we reached our first camp the flies and mosquitoes were very
plentiful. The boys were loud in their forceful expressions against the
songsters and their near cousins, the black flies. All hands were busy,
some erecting the tents, others cutting spruce boughs for a good bed,
and the rest getting something to eat for the hungry party.
Pitching camp very quickly developed the inexperience of Cheechalker.
Always willing to lend a helping hand, he started the fire on the
windward side, filling our eyes with smoke. The site he selected for the
tent showed plenty of roots, well calculated to furnish an uneasy
experience for the night. When he pointed it out to us, we soon
overruled him. The duffel was hardly unloaded until Doc was ransacking
the outfit for his .22 rifle to shoot some Canada grouse (_Dendragapus
canadensis_). They are very plentiful in the spruce timber and when
flushed will fly to a limb, where they sit and crane their necks at the
hunter, who, if he is wise enough to pick off the lowest bird at each
shot, may, if he so desires, clean out the entire covey. In the
meantime one of the party had shot a red squirrel, and at the suggestion
of Old Sourdough it was nailed to the limb of a tree in anticipation of
a little fun at Doc's expense. On his return the old Indian said in his
guttural voice (pointing at the squirrel), "Look! look! him big
squirrel, shoot!!" Old Sourdough, meanwhile helping the fun along by
craning his neck in every direction, said, "Where? where?" In the
meantime Doc was making a mad rush for his .35 Winchester; crack went
the gun, off went the ears of Mr. Squirrel, and he gently swayed on the
nail; once more the gun cracked, and this time the body fell to the
ground in fragments. Then the woods rang again and again with the shouts
of the party, while Doc threatened dire vengeance on those who
perpetrated the joke.
After dinner, a smoke, and a few stories, the Indians departed to their
tent and we all stretched out in a row for our night's sleep. But too
soon, for one fellow pulled the blanket from his neighbor. Then there
was a "rough house," and after that duels to the death with mosquitoes,
all punctuated with such a variety of exclamations that the vocabulary
of each was exhausted before quiet was restored.
[Illustration: Lining the Boat]
On the way out next morning the hunters were boasting about the number
of fine trophies they were going to take home, for all reports indicated
plenty of sheep and moose. About that time one of the party remembered
we had forgotten to bring salt along for curing the "fine trophies;"
then a call was sent out for a meeting to discuss ways and means to
procure the necessary salt. At the caucus it was decided to send the
packers back to Kenai with a boat, and a halt was called until the
following day, when the return of the packers was expected. They arrived
in good time with a bushel of coarse salt.
Kenai River is very swift and cannot be ascended in a dory pulled with
oars, so the boat must be "lined" along the shore. There is no beach
along the river and the shore is almost impassable by foot on account of
trees growing at every conceivable angle and hanging over and under the
water.
In the morning we started, two natives and two hunters to a boat, the
leader with his two-hundred-foot line well in advance, carefully keeping
the rope on the river side of all obstructions. Doc selected the
position of captain (steersman) of one of the dories. Cheechalker took
hold of the rope, but before long he was panting for breath, being
quite fleshy and tipping the scales at two hundred pounds. He soon
found that carrying his weight on the many ups and downs over fallen
timbers, with the washouts along the bank and the alder growing thick at
places along the shore, was not a joy ride over a macadamized road in an
auto, nor was it conducive to easy respiration. The advantage a man of
experience has over the inexperienced individual, in making his way over
and under logs and overcoming other difficulties with the least
resistance, is wonderful. For instance, experience has taught the
veteran that he must not step on a slanting stick, a slime-covered
stone, or grass concealing a washout in the bank. He likewise learns to
avoid many other little indiscretions that cause heavy falls and
bruising of the limbs and body, which will wear out the vitality of the
strongest. Before long Cheechalker, who had had several tumbles into the
water, had to have assistance to get out. He was soon lagging behind,
and ere the first lap of the journey was completed he was begging us to
let him get into the boat. Travel was delayed long enough for him to don
dry clothing, and when we started he refused to walk any more, saying it
was out of the question,--he was completely "tuckered out." It was then
that one of the natives hesitated for some time before he would consent
to go on, for it required all the red men's strength and skill on the
line to get the boat along without this additional load of two hundred
pounds. Cheechalker, with his red face, looked for all the world like a
lobster, so Old Sourdough took pity on him and had a heart-to-heart talk
with the natives. His argument was, "Him sick, heap sick,--like turtle,
no walk!" This and similar logic was used for a period of about five
minutes, whereupon the two natives looked at each other, emitted a few
grunts, and started up the river.
At the end of the first day's work we had made about eight miles and
built our camp-fire for the night. Nothing unusual happened that
evening, but the inevitable "no-see-ims" and mosquitoes had sufficient
time to gather and kept us busy moving at short intervals from place to
place, following the smudge smoke. Cheechalker, although naturally
sluggish on account of his avoirdupois, was quite active now, first to
windward and then to leeward of the smudge, between periods of relief
from smoke and "no-see-ims." Doc complained at frequent intervals about
the "pesky critters," donned his veil, and with hands in his pockets
strutted around, restless and impatient.
[Illustration: Mid-day on the Kenai]
Old Sourdough, without any modern frills, sat quietly smoking his
makeshift pipe, evidently enjoying his smoke, but occasionally disturbed
and raising his hand to chase an importunate pest out of his eye or ear.
A fallen spruce furnished boughs for a temporary bed for the tired
campers after a day's lining, pulling, and wading. Each man opened his
pack, spread his rubber blanket on the boughs, and one long tarpaulin
was laid over all. Then each one lay down wrapped in his blanket, and
another tarpaulin was drawn over all four in a row. Thus settled, we
enjoyed the sweet but restless sleep of the weary. Toward morning when
the ice was forming on the water in the camp pails, there was a tug of
war going on most of the time between the two end men for the control of
the upper canvas, and as the middle man expressed it later, "it had made
three round trips during the night," for he felt it "sawing its way
across" under his nose.
Ever to our ears through the night came the roar of the river, here two
hundred yards wide, rushing day and night to the sea, grand and
powerful, glistening here and there in the morning twilight as the
raging waters boiled and seethed over the hidden bowlders that threw
the water as though some huge monster were trying to "buck" the current.
As soon as breakfast was over every man went to his task, the blankets
were rolled in separate bundles, the entire equipment packed carefully,
the guns tied fast for fear of the boat capsizing in the strong current.
The leader started with the rope, two others followed, each taking a
hold in turn, and the captain steered. The leader in advance put the
rope on the river side of all trees, rocks, and debris; the other two,
climbing out on the trees that extended over the water, assisted in
pulling and keeping the rope clear. Occasionally we struck rapids, where
the current was swift and caused much trouble to the boats by driving
one or the other against a hidden bowlder, where it would hang as on a
pivot, swinging backward and forward until one of the Indians would wade
out in the ice-cold water up to his waist and release it.
The mania to kill was very strong in the hunters and at dawn the most
bloodthirsty was astir, exhorting the cook to build a fire in the Yukon
stove and hustling the packers to get ready for our up-river trip by
loading the boats with the duffel. Across the beautiful river, sparkling
with the silt of the glaciers, aglow with the morning sun, stood a
solitary, snow-white herring gull, breakfasting upon a king salmon that
had been cast by the swift current into an eddy and gently washed
ashore. The passion for wilful destruction was uppermost in the heart of
the gunner, and as quickly as possible he had a leaden missile on its
way across the water. With the field-glasses could be seen the white
bird with its graceful wings spread helplessly over the water and the
beautiful white feathers crimsoned with its life blood, slowly moving
with the current to the sea.
In a short time stakes were pulled, duffel packed, lines adjusted, and
we were on our way. There was a little commotion at the head of the line
when Simeon, one of the Indians, spied a large porcupine plodding his
way deeper into the forest. Letting go of the rope he made a rush for
the "porky," caught it by the tail, held on till he got a club nearby,
and proceeded to pound it over the head. The natives are very fond of
"porky," and when we pitched camp in the evening Simeon was very busy
singeing the hair over the fire before boiling.
[Illustration: "Porky"]
On our way up the river we were agreeably surprised to see a stranger
walk into camp. Tall, erect, with clean-cut features, he looked the
very picture of health. He wore a broad-brimmed hat with the garb of a
hunter. Lunch was about ready, and on invitation he dined with us. In
conversation we soon learned that he was a college man, a graduate of
one of the leading colleges in the East, and had come from our own
eastern city some fourteen years before. He told us that for several
years he had corresponded with relatives and friends, but finally quit
writing because he had not yet made his stake. However, he now had many
encouraging prospects, and before long expected to make good and return
east. It was surprising to us how an educated man could spend fourteen
of the best years of his life in his little tent, with mosquitoes and
"no-see-ims" as his only companions, dreaming, dreaming of the find that
never came, and with his pan, pick, and shovel digging every here and
there, with color, color everywhere, but not in paying quantities. On
our way down we found him as usual, dreaming of the prospects he had
staked, and when we left him a sack of flour and a few other necessaries
of life he was very grateful, showing that a warm heart beat beneath the
rough exterior. We bid him good-bye, and a large tear coursed down his
cheek as he said: "I wish I were going with you, boys; but not yet;
soon, I hope." Is it any wonder that the steamers on their return trips
carry so many insane men to the States? The entire river has been
prospected and staked; the blazed trees and indelible pencil marks are
about the only method of indicating that a claim has been staked. About
half-way up the river we came to the deserted tent of the fellows who
had participated in the shooting at Kenai.
In order to have a pleasant time on a trip of this sort it is very
essential to have companions accustomed to "roughing it." Every man in
the party must sacrifice individual comfort for the benefit of the camp
as a whole. I have in mind a trip taken to Alaska with another party
where one individual was so selfish that every action was for his own
comfort and enjoyment. For instance, he was always first to eat and
managed to get a double portion of everything, cooked and uncooked. If
there was one duck, one grouse, or one trout, he managed to cook the one
and gorge himself and eat all to his own satisfaction. In the morning he
was always first up and ready for breakfast, taking care of his
individual interests and paying no attention to others. In fact, he
would even permit the destruction of goods not his own without showing
the least interest. In the same party was another character in many ways
the opposite, always last to the table and never looking out for his own
things; going around growling about this, that, and the other
thing,--never in time for breakfast, lunch, or supper. There is no
better opportunity to find out the good qualities of a companion than to
go camping with him in the wilds. A selfish disposition soon becomes
unbearable, and many a good outing has been spoiled by having such a
fellow in the party. Few men are so constituted that they can stand
"roughing it" very long under trying circumstances without showing the
"yellow streak."
[Illustration: The Tonsorial Artist at Work]
After seven days' hard work we reached Lake Skilak. The sun was just
setting, casting a mellow crimson reflection over the placid waters. The
beautiful lake was hemmed in on all sides by verdured slopes and
snow-capped peaks, the dark green of the spruce intermingling with
patches of cottonwood clothed in autumnal colors, "the sear, the yellow
leaf" predominating. On the surface of the water, idling away the time,
were little flocks of ducks, and in the air were black cormorants heavy
in their flight. This serene panorama filled the nature-lovers in the
party with joy and delight, and they felt themselves well repaid for all
the hardship of the week. The Indians wanted to make camp at once, and
showed their displeasure when they learned that we desired to take
advantage of a strong fair wind and hoist our sail regardless of their
wishes. We made elegant time to an island, on which we camped for the
night. The next day we reached the head of the lake, where we expected
to spend several weeks.
The party had decided to make a try after white sheep on the mountain
beyond the divide. By this time Cheechalker had had enough of tramping
and quietly informed us that we might count him out; he was perfectly
satisfied, he said, to remain with the cook at the permanent camp. This
was located at the mouth of a little stream which entered the lake after
a precipitous course from the glacier at the summit, down the mountain
canyon, through the narrow gulch of the upper foothills to the wooded
valley, chasing and tumbling under and over moss-grown and decayed
trees, fallen giants of other years. The under foliage had been
destroyed by a fire which was still smoldering here and there among the
moss, and the sun, entering the opening between the trees, shimmered
and fluttered on the spray-moistened bowlders like fantastic rays of
Aladdin's lamp. Here we pitched our tent among the stately birches,
intending to make this our headquarters for some time.
Taking a stroll a little way up the beach we were agreeably surprised to
find we had neighbors, and were interested to know who they were and
what they were doing. One suggested prospectors, another hunters; in the
meantime, while we were looking at their outfit for a suggestion, a
collection of stones in the niche of a tree, the skull of a rodent, an
insect or two, answered the question beyond the shadow of a doubt,--a
naturalist in pursuit of data that the world might be benefited by his
researches. The following day his packer came into camp with a beautiful
specimen of Dall's sheep (_Ovis dalli nelson_). We then learned that it
was Mr. Bell, from the University of Minneapolis.
[Illustration: Ready for the Start]
We left camp for the top of the mountain, every man with his pack. The
tramp along the trail was interesting, leading as it did through spruce,
birch, and cottonwood until we reached the end, where we were obliged to
push through low alder and "devil's clubs." The latter average about one
inch in thickness, and in this locality grow as high as a man's head.
They are usually straight and branchless, of a yellowish-green color,
and are thickly covered with slender sharp spines that readily penetrate
the clothing and cause great discomfort to one who undertakes to pass
through a thicket.
The ascent was very steep from this point until we reached the altitude
of "little sticks." One of the Nimrods was in advance a short distance,
and so anxious was he to reach the sheep country that he went off the
trail and had to be recalled. But his aggressiveness was short-lived,
and long before midday he was shouting at the top of his voice from the
rear end of the string of packs, "Wait! Wait! You're going too d----
fast!" In a short time we ran into a bees' nest, and you should have
seen the party scatter to get out of raiding distance of the nest, every
man for himself, packs bouncing, hats waving, all shouting until we
reached a safe distance.
[Illustration: Approaching the Low Pass]
As we ascended the mountain the mosquitoes grew scarcer and scarcer.
About the "land of little sticks" we stopped for a light lunch. Looking
in the direction indicated by the guide we saw a large moose feeding in
a little swale. Doc could not see him, try as he would. The Indian
endeavored to assist him by locating the animal with reference to a
good-sized rock, but his untrained eye, even with the aid of
field-glasses, could not make out the outline and we had to give up in
despair, although he was very keen to see it. Blueberries were quite
plentiful all around us and after we ate our lunch we filled up with
them as a dessert. We came to a little pond of crystal water at the foot
of a small glacier, and as soon as we reached the margin some
twenty-five or thirty ptarmigan took flight in all directions. They were
still in their moulting plumage. By this time the largest man in the
party was unable to keep the pace, and lagging behind kept the entire
party back. In starting up the canyon the ambitious member turned up the
right side, but erelong came to a place that was impassable and began to
shout, "I can't go any farther along here." One of the others answered,
"Slide, slide!" and the mighty Nimrod took the suggestion and slid down
the shale to the bottom and then began the ascent from another point on
the opposite side, where he found traveling much easier. This is the
common experience of the over-zealous tenderfoot.
[Illustration: Home of the White Sheep]
There was a low pass over the mountain and we had to wind our way up,
down, and around in order to make it, for it was only accessible by way
of an almost perpendicular rock. The leaders reached the top and were
required to wait for the rear-guard, but the tail end, before he could
get up, had to have the assistance of a rope tied around his body. What
with pulling and tugging by the guides on the upper end of the rope, the
big fellow was gently and carefully landed in safety. When he reached us
he was puffing and blowing like a wind-broken horse and insisted we must
camp right there, for he could go no farther. And although we had
intended to reach the valley some five miles beyond, where we could get
wood and water, we were forced, out of sympathy for a big-hearted,
congenial companion, to camp just where we were, he being completely
tired out from his trying experience.
After a restless night, with visions of sheep and photographs galore, we
were up and ready to start about the time the ptarmigan were clucking
their announcement of the rosy dawn. The country was cut into
gently-sloping valleys clothed with verdure, between long ridges of
mountains partly covered with snow. Through the glasses a dozen or more
white specks on the mountain-side could be distinguished as sheep moving
slowly as they grazed. We were too far away to tell whether there were
any big rams in the flock.
Considering the topographical conditions, the wind and the method of
approach, we mapped out our _modus operandi_ and started up the ridge of
the mountain on the right. It was a long, hard pull and by the time we
reached the summit all were wearied, especially my companion, who kept
shouting a request not to go so fast. Several hours after we spied the
sheep we were crawling stealthily over the backbone of the ridge where
we expected to find the flock, but were sadly disappointed. The
photographer threw his kodak back into the case with a quiet "d----";
the other pushed his "safety" on, threw his gun over his shoulder, and
turned back with a shaking of the head that was more expressive than
language. After examining carefully every likely place, all that we
could find of the flock was one lonely little lamb looking at us as
though in disgust. Presently it went away down into the valley and we
watched it as it ascended the opposite side and disappeared as a little
speck over the divide.
When we left camp in the morning the tenderfoot was still in bed and on
our return we were surprised to see how happy he was. Pointing to the
carcass of a little lamb, and beating his breast with his good right
hand, he said: "I've got my sheep. No more tramping those d----
mountains for me. I'm going back to camp." We were very much disgusted
to think he would travel six thousand miles and spend so much money to
hunt one half-day and then turn "quitter." We used every argument in our
power and as tactfully as possible tried to persuade him not to turn
back, but of no avail. Turning to us he retorted: "You old Sourdoughs, I
wouldn't follow you over those mountains for ten thousand dollars." So
with a packer he started around the mountain towards camp, happy as a
lark, promising us he would send the packer back with flour and other
provisions. Little did we suspect that he would try to starve us out of
the camp and thereby force us to return to headquarters.
According to prearranged plan, we intended to move down the valley and
select a camp site where we could get wood. About the time we started
the wind blew a gale, bringing rain and sleet. For four hours we tramped
through the wet underbrush with the elements pelting and lashing us in
their fury. We were drenched to the skin. As soon as our camp site was
selected, we threw off our packs in a drizzling rain and each man turned
to his task. Two arranged the canvas under a spreading scrub hemlock,
for we needed the protection from the wind. Soon a huge fire was going,
dispensing its cheerful warmth through the gloom, driving away the blues
of my companion, who was beginning to complain a great deal. Disrobing,
we hung our wet clothing over the surrounding limbs, where it was soon
steaming away, while the hunters were toasting their shins as they
waited for dry clothes and liquid refreshment, for by this time the
teapot was trying to quench the little side fire and the sizzling lamb
chops were about done to a finish. After a while my friend began to thaw
out; turning to me, he said: "Billy, I wonder what our friends would say
if they saw us now. I have no doubt they would suggest a committee of
the person," and I answered: "But this is only one side of it. We enjoy
life by contrast. When we get into our dry clothing, how we will enjoy
it, and when the sun shines to-morrow, how it will fill our hearts with
gladness! Every thorn has its rose, the darkest cloud its silver
lining."
[Illustration: Seeking a Ford]
After a good night's rest and something to eat, we divided into two
parties. My companion and his guide going toward the north, I started
westward up Benjamin Creek with the intention of crossing, but the
current was so swift that it was impossible to find a ford. Although the
guide, with me on his back, waded into the ice-cold water several times,
he was forced to return for fear of being carried off his feet. On the
opposite side of the creek could be seen a great many sheep, some
feeding, others lying down on rocky points from which they could command
a good view of the surrounding valley. They are very quick to
distinguish any strange object a long way off, and before you can get at
all near they take to the summit and disappear beyond. In the flock
there was not a single head that could be considered a trophy worthy of
the chase, even to a tenderfoot. I am sorry I did not have a telephoto
lens, for I could have secured a fairly good picture of the group. My
friend, George Shiras, III., got many good pictures in this same
location with a telephoto lens.
In ecstasy I followed the stream, reveling in the solitude of the rocky
fastnesses, where the right of eminent domain is granted by the Creator
to none save the cloven-hoofed creatures who have roamed there
unmolested from time immemorial. But now they are being taught a new
lesson. The modern gun in hands controlled by steady nerves and unerring
eye sounds the death knell of the species, unless they are given
protection. They are learning slowly and by bitter experience that even
at any distance they are in imminent danger from the rifle.
Away yonder on the uppermost crag stood His Majesty, as though chiseled
out of and forming a part of the very rock itself. A little below stood
his companion, another big ram. Selecting the lower sheep for a trophy,
I elevated the sights for six hundred yards. I instructed the guide to
watch with the field-glasses where the lead struck the rock. A loud
report, a great recoil, and a thud carried the message of danger to the
curious, though unsuspecting, sheep. The guide said, "A little too
high." In the meantime the rams were nervous and undecided what to do,
seeming uncertain as to the exact location of the enemy. Another thud on
the rocks, this time below, and then away they went out of sight over
the crest. We did not see them again, and they offered the only
desirable trophies of their kind that we found on the trip. In the fall
the big rams roam together a great deal in the most remote and
inaccessible places, the ewes generally flocking by themselves. It
seems to be the popular belief in that country that the large rams
separate from the flocks and withdraw by themselves at that season. We
saw several flocks, an average of seventy-five sheep a day, but there
were no big rams among them.
Our attention is attracted by a movement on the ground, a glimpse of a
marmot, as, making a bolt along its well-worn path, it disappears into a
hole, reappears, and again disappears,--a caper which is characteristic
of the little animal, as though he were curious to know something
definite about the invaders of his domain. This habit frequently gives
the hunter a shot, but their tenacity of life is so great that they
usually get back into the hole and one seldom recovers the body. Their
flesh is quite a delicacy among the natives, as well as to the hunter
when hungry. He is conscious of their presence at all times, for their
whistling can be heard continually in every direction.
The ptarmigan are plentiful, some partly concealed among the rocks, and
some walking about craning their necks, all beautiful in their moulting
plumage. Each is in a different stage of transformation from the
handsome brown of summer to the more beautiful winter dress of
snow-white. How wonderful are the ways of the Creator for the
preservation of the species! If the summer plumage were to remain until
the whole land is covered with snow, how easy it would be for the
ptarmigan hawk, occasionally seen soaring in the air, to distinguish the
bird, make a dart, pick it up for his evening meal--and thus bring about
the speedy extermination of this beautiful species! They are so tame you
could kill with stones all you would eat. The manner in which nature
provides protection for the inhabitants of the snow peaks is illustrated
again in the case of the sheep, which are white.
We saw many beautiful little flowers, the bluebell always in evidence,
daisies, a bunch of forget-me-nots, and what fascinated me beyond
description,--several bunches of violets away above the snow-line. They
took me back to the springtime in the Middle States. The wild geraniums
were in bloom, varying in color from a delicate purple to a faded hue,
with leaves colored from green to scarlet.
When we left the main camp provisions enough to last two days were
packed. It was our intention to keep a packer going between camps
carrying our supplies; thus we could move from place to place as light
as possible. When Doc returned from the last camp to headquarters with
his lamb and a packer to show him the way, he promised faithfully to
send the Indian back to us with a good supply of provisions. We
suggested writing down the articles desired, but he thought this was not
necessary,--that a good supply would be forthcoming. Thus we separated.
My companion was uneasy for fear of the Indian not being able to find
our camp, for our supplies were getting low. I had no fear from this
source, knowing well the natural instinct of a child of the forest for
taking our trail, which was so pronounced that even a novice could
follow us. You may imagine the chagrin of the party when he returned on
the following day with no flour and only bread enough to last one meal.
We then came to the conclusion that Doc was tired of the hunt and had
adopted this means of forcing us by starvation to return to the
provision camp. We hunted all that day with only one small biscuit
apiece. It was raining, and in the evening, when we returned to camp wet
and hungry, a large fire was built and our wet clothing dried. A tin cup
full of boiling hot tea soon revived our depressed spirits. This, with a
few ptarmigan roasted on a spit, enabled us to retire in good
condition.
By this time my comrade could not stand the hardships any longer and
wanted to return to the lake. He insisted that there were no big
trophies in the country. I succeeded in getting him to stay a day or two
longer by telling him I had seen a large ram. The last day we hunted
together we came upon a prospector's cache. On top of a large stone we
noticed a pile of small stones arranged in a way that at first sight
indicated the hand of man. Examining the pile we found beans, flour, and
dried fruits. Although we had been living on porcupine for two days, the
natives refused to touch the cache. There is an unwritten law among
prospectors and hunters that is never violated in this far-away land.
The cache is never disturbed, for they know full well that some
fellow-man is depending upon the provisions to reach civilization, and
to disturb it may cost the life of the owner. However, if one in a
starving condition helps himself, he leaves his name and the owner
considers it an act of humanity. Those only who have been in a similar
situation can appreciate what it means. One of the guides insisted it
was cached by the owner, who had gone back to civilization and left it
in the hope that some person in great need might find it. How we longed
to have a mess of those navy beans, but we had not yet reached the
condition where we could help ourselves, for we were only one day's
march from plenty.
Finally my companion had his way, and in the morning, though the weather
looked threatening, we started, two of the packers towards camp with the
outfit, and the hunters for the summit once more. While resting a little
before we made the ascent of a high mountain, my guide pointed out a
large moose, with huge palmated horns. He was feeding peacefully in the
distance, occasionally looking around as though always on the alert for
foes. One horn was still in the velvet, and on the other the velvet was
dangling down just ready to drop off, with the red corpuscles on the
antlers glittering in the rain.
By and by the clouds began to form on the mountain-tops, and gradually
lowered until they enveloped the entire mountains and valleys. Again the
rain commenced, and continued a steady downpour for the remainder of the
day. The fates were against us in respect to the weather, but we did not
have to go hungry, for the marmots were plentiful, whistling here and
there, as though a kind Providence had provided a good supper for the
camp. After walking all day in a cold, drizzling rain that was almost
sleet, we overtook our packers, who had been traveling since morning in
order to reach a camping place where there were both wood and water. We
finally reached the foothills, where we found water and scrub spruce in
abundance. One of the guides, while "rustling" sticks for fire, ran onto
a large porcupine, and between marmot soup and porcupine roast we had an
abundance to satisfy the inner man.
After the Indians had eaten their fill,--and the amount they could eat
was surprising,--the one that got the brisket had picked it clean and
started to twirl it in the air, uttering some chanting words each time
he tossed it, until it fell with the narrow side up, then he turned to
his companions laughing and shaking his head. Then another went through
the same motions. I subsequently learned that if the narrow side turned
up frequently this indicated they would have another "porky" on the
morrow. Porcupine they prefer to any other kind of meat. The intestines
seem to be considered the choice morsels. Our guide would take hold of
the intestine with one hand and with the other would strip it of its
contents in the various stages of digestion. Then to each man would be
allotted his _pro rata_ share,--and each was careful to see that he got
his full portion of the delicacy. Next they would string the sections on
sticks and gather round the fire on their "hunkers," singeing the
tidbits more or less, each according to his taste. Upon our inquiring
why they did not wash the dainties, they explained that washing spoiled
the flavor. There was a great deal of humor about them and they
frequently tried to play simple jokes on each other. Occasionally one
would reach for the field-glasses, look long and earnestly, then point
in the direction of the mountain to some rocks and shout "Mushee"[1]
(meaning "Sheep"), and when another member of the party would hurriedly
reach for the glasses and shout "No mushee," all would have a laugh at
his expense. They are great tea drinkers and when in camp the teapot is
always on the fire getting hot for the next cup. If for any reason they
were compelled to do without it, they would sulk until they got it.
[Footnote 1: The term for mountain sheep in the language of the
British Columbian Indians is "Scoulaps."]
It rained all night and we did not rest well, although very tired after
our trip over long stretches of mountain-side covered with loose stones
of all sizes and forms thrown down by the elements from the mountain-top.
The bed was hard; the tent was pitched under a scrub hemlock to get
protection from the strong wind that was blowing down the pass. The wind
moaned and groaned all the fore part of the night, then subsided, but
the rain continued till morning. The Nimrods huddled together in a small
depression on the ground, with no bed but the rubber blankets and very
scanty covering. Our hip bones would get sore, and one would turn and
then the other, continually. We were glad to see the dawn of another
day. All night long, "drip, drip, drip" in different parts of the tent
the rain could be heard. The hunting shoe of my companion, standing
upright under one of the largest leaks, proved an opportune receptacle,
consequently in the morning his shoe was about half full of rain water.
After a breakfast of porcupine stewed with a spoonful of evaporated
potatoes and washed down with a cup of tea, we folded our tent and
plodded our weary way towards camp. Blueberries and salmon-berries were
very plentiful. We found at the higher elevations an abundance of a
species of blueberry, the woody plants of which grew less than three
inches in height. They were laden with a small berry, very sweet to the
taste, and so plentiful that they could be stripped off by the handful.
Among them grew another species as heavily laden with red fruit, which I
think was a species of partridge-berry. The two grew about the same
height. The Indians preferred the red berries and seemed fond of them.
As for myself, I was not partial to them, but ate liberally of the blue.
Among the berries we came upon a covey of ptarmigan feeding. Doc,
murderously inclined, fired some ten shots at one of them before it
flew. Indeed, so recklessly did he scatter his leaden pellets as the
birds rose, that old Shanghai, one of our Indians, called to me: "Hey,
Billy, Billy! Come on! Damn! Him make bullets whiz by head!"
As we reached lower levels, the blueberries gave way to salmon-berries.
They resemble raspberries in growth and appearance, but have a peculiar
tart flavor. They were in great abundance, and were much relished by our
party.
We arrived at camp in due time, tired and hungry, but none the worse for
our experience, and after a short rest, quite ready for another tramp
through the enchanting forest of birch, Cottonwood, and hemlock.
[Illustration: Ptarmigan]
On our way through the woods the Indians gathered for snuff-making a
great many fungi growing on the birch trees. In preparing the snuff,
they first take a birch limb of sufficient size and with a pocket-knife
cut out a round hole about two inches in diameter and an inch and a
half deep; this is the mortar. The fungi are then placed in the hot
coals of a birch-wood fire until they are charred through and through,
when they are broken into the mortar with a like amount of tobacco
leaves. Then with another piece of birch wood about three feet long for
a pestle the mixture is ground in the mortar until it becomes of the
color and consistency of a moist snuff. This the Indians continually
chew and rub in their teeth. Of the many uses of the noble birch surely
this is the most unique.
From the seedling to the giant tree the life history of the birch is one
of usefulness to the inhabitants of the wild. The hardwood ridge over
yonder looks like the woods in the vicinity of a beaver community, only
over a much larger area. Acres and acres of birch trees averaging two
inches in diameter are broken off a couple of feet from the ground by
the giant moose, which straddle a sapling and bend it down to browse
upon the boughs and tender twigs of the top. An old-timer in the country
told us that once after a hard winter he came upon several "moose yards"
in the spring and found many bodies of moose that had starved to death.
He also told us that he had saved the lives of quite a number by
cutting down trees where they could feed and thus tide themselves over a
severe spell of bad weather. The birch-buds nourish the grouse during
the winter. Birch-bark starts the fire and birch-wood furnishes the
fuel. Birch-bark supplies the natives raw material from which to
manufacture canoes and various utensils and trinkets. Taking it all in
all I do not know of any other tree of the forest that is put to so many
uses. An interesting instance of its application to the culinary art
comes to mind. According to a tradition in our family, some of whom were
pioneers in the Huron district of Canada, the Indians taught them to
make a very fair substitute for baking powder out of a compound of the
ashes of birch and hickory wood. I am sorry I never learned the formula.
Around the camp fire we gathered just before retiring. The night was
dark. The doleful cry of the solitary great northern diver (_Urinator
imperator_) came through the stillness of the invigorating atmosphere,
and scarcely would the echo die away in the distant hills until the call
was repeated. The bird may have been floating on the surface of the
lake, or flying in the air, calling, as it frequently does while in
flight. The native Indians, like the sailors, do not take kindly to the
laughing of the loon, for there is a superstition among them that it
forebodes bad weather or some misfortune. The camp-fire was burning
brightly, cutting a luminous hemisphere out of the inky darkness. In the
north the aurora borealis was throwing its weird light in streamers
stretched in a semicircle over the horizon. While I was admiring these
the moon pushing up over the black hilltop across the lake, looked
cherry-red. It seemed as though I was under a spell. In my fancy I could
see a great boat approaching over the dark water, with a huge
search-light just rotating into view and sweeping the northern heavens
with its rays. But even as I gazed the full moon appeared in all its
northern splendor, the vision dissolved, and I realized that the
northern lights and Old Luna had played a prank on me.
The next day we packed our belongings and shifted camp some four miles
farther south on the same lake. As soon as the bow of our little boat
struck the shore we hopped out and began a reconnoiter for a camp site.
A well-worn path across the narrow neck of land separating one little
fiord from another attracted our attention. A stroll in that direction
disclosed a camp which had lately been occupied by some unknown party.
On a tree we found the card of our fellow townsman, George Shiras, III.,
who had recently left the camp for the sheep country. It was like
receiving a letter from home. How pleasant the surprise had we been so
fortunate as to meet him! The "few days in camp together," suggested by
his invitation of long standing, would have been realized by a strange
coincidence. While he left civilization from Seward, we departed by way
of Kenai, several hundred miles distant, yet both arrived at the same
place, he by way of the upper Kenai and we by the lower.
A hurried pitching of camp in anticipation of rain, which had been
incessant for the past four days, with only brief intervals of relief
from the downpour, put us in excellent shape, with plenty of spruce
boughs for bedding, before the rain began to patter, patter on the
stretched canvas. To me a most interesting experience is that of being
lulled into dreamland under such conditions. It may be due to the effect
of the ozone and to the fact that in the woods one is always tired when
night comes.
On the following morning we divided the parties and left camp in
different directions. After tramping many miles alone I came to a swamp
country. Crossing over one arm of the swamp, wading up to my knees in
water, I came upon a path worn almost a foot deep by moose traveling
from one place to another. I was unable to figure out why they traveled
backward and forward along this particular route. After returning home I
learned from Mr. Shiras that not far from this point was a salt lick and
the path was the regular route to and from the lick.
The path led through a little depression in a ridge that projected into
the swamp. Mounting an elevation in the center of the ridge, I could see
on every side little lakes and ponds, surrounded with alders and acres
of yellow swamp grass, an ideal home for moose. Taking my field-glass, I
looked in every direction for game, and finally my eye rested on a
yellowish-brown object, then another and another, which proved to be cow
moose feeding among the birches. While resting, there came to my ears
from another direction the snapping of bushes. I knew it was a moose
feeding, a cow, to be sure. I at once started in the direction whence
the sound came, and happened upon three cows feeding and resting. They
did not seem to be wild, for on seeing me they threw their ears back and
hair forward, just like mules, then walked off a short distance and
stopped. In fact, they appeared to be very tame and evidently knew that
the law protected their sex. While looking in the finder of my camera I
noticed that their curiosity seemed to be aroused and that they were
advancing towards me a little too closely for safety. I hurriedly set
down my kodak and raised my gun for fear the foremost would take a
notion to charge. Just at this moment she wheeled straight around and
with a trotting motion, took to the closest cover. Before I returned to
camp my intention had been to come back the next day, but I found the
entire party had decided to turn homeward the next morning. What an
opportunity I missed to get some photographs of big bull moose! The
party saw at least ten cow moose that day. Without a doubt, when the
rutting season arrived in about ten days, the large bulls, now in the
high timber, would be scouring the forests in search of their mates,
bellowing in answer to the call of their lady-loves.
As soon as he reached the camp that evening Cheechalker began to inquire
about his bath, and his equilibrium was greatly disturbed when the
Indians refused to erect a tepee for a sweat box and give him a bath.
The guide, pointing to the crystal water of the lake, said, "Him good
water, make good wash." Now Cheechalker took as kindly to the crystal
water as fish take to the land. Finally the party went for a bath, each
performing his ablution in installments, and while they were sunning
themselves, Old Sourdough took a header into the lake as an example that
they might follow. This was too strenuous for the balance of the party
and they were satisfied to look on.
[Illustration: A Bath in Lake Skilak]
Doc took a stroll along the beach with his shotgun and returned with a
brace of snipe. The white crescent over the eye was very conspicuous
between the black bill and slaty-black feathers of the crown.
Pulling stakes after our breakfast was over next morning, we were soon
on our way homeward. We were just one day going down the river. The
current was very swift and save for a few stops we made excellent time.
At two of the worst rapids we all got out and the Indians ran the
rapids. Before we pulled into Kenai we were told the _Bydarky_ had left
for Seldovia and would not make another trip for three days, which, if
true, would be too late for us to catch the last boat of the season from
Seldovia to Seattle. After arriving at Kenai we had about completed
arrangements for a little schooner to take us up the inlet to Sunrise,
on Turnagain Bay, where we expected to get a train for Seward, in time
for the steamer, when, much to our pleasant surprise, the belated
_Bydarky_ came into port on her way to Seldovia. We had been
misinformed. We quickly transferred our outfit, much relieved that we
would not have to miss the last boat of the season.
At two o'clock in the afternoon the boat left Kenai under full steam for
the westward. The waters of the inlet were as smooth as glass and we
were making good headway. Not even a gentle breeze was blowing as the
sun disappeared behind the snow-covered peaks of Iliamna and Redoubt.
The afterglow, reflected from the snowy cap, and the steam bursting from
the side of old Redoubt gave it a weird appearance.
All the passengers had retired except Doc and myself, who had been left
without a bunk. We first thought we would throw our blankets on the
floor of the combination cabin, kitchen, and dining-room. A strong
breeze began to blow and we decided to go into the hold for the night,
coil ourselves up in our duffel, and go to sleep. The wind increased to
a hurricane. What a night we spent down in the hold of that old tub! She
was carrying little freight, had no ballast, and could make no time. The
tide caught us, and between the outgoing and the incoming tide-rifts the
boat was tossed about at the mercy of the elements. When she pitched
forward the propeller was out of the water and spun like a button on a
barn door. The engine throbbed and beat, stopped and started, with jerks
and bounds, and the climax came when it broke.
We were in the most treacherous water of the Pacific, rolling and
tumbling in the trough and on the ridge of the high seas. The boat was
drifting out of the charted course and toward a coast bristling with
unknown rocks, upon which we were sure of being lost. The instant the
engine broke, the engineer came down the hatchway like a meteor. The
boat made a plunge and he landed in a heap on top of the doctor, who was
so sick that in his misery he did not care whether the craft went down
or floated. Righting himself, the engineer made a dash for the
engine-room to repair the damage. In the storm the poop deck went to
windward over the stern. The repair-men were at work; above the din of
the hammer and chisel could be heard the cargo shifting from side to
side with the billows. Oh! how I longed to hear again the vibrating of
the engine and smell the stench of the fuel oil, which before the storm
had made our condition almost unbearable. The doctor lying on the broad
of his back lifted his head and stared through the now open poop deck
and asked, "Where are those sparks coming from?" I looked up and thought
the stack was belching sparks from its fiery bowels. A second look,
however, sufficed to show that what seemed to be sparks were the stars
as they passed back and forth over the hatch with the rocking of the
boat. The illusion was much more realistic than the narration of it
would indicate.
I mustered up enough courage to crawl to the ladder, climbed up, looked
out,--and what a night! The stars seemed large and brilliant enough for
planets, the moon almost large and bright enough for the sun. How it
danced on the foamy crests of the tide-rifts when the whitecaps broke,
throwing the silvery spray all around the heaving, plunging, tossing
boat. Iliamna and Redoubt stood in their majesty, silent onlookers at
the battle that was waging between the little boat and the powerful
elements,--wondering who was going to be the victor. I dropped bade into
the hold half believing it was all a dream, when I heard the captain
shouting to the pilot, "Keep her head on, head on!" For fear of drifting
upon the rocks they were obliged to run many miles out to sea before
they dared make the turn for the harbor. I heard him shout to the man at
the wheel, "Head her into the harbor as quickly as possible when she is
in the next trough!" We had now reached the critical moment,--would they
select the right time to make the turn? When the boat was turned halfway
to leeward and on the crest, the turbine without resistance spun around
at a fearful rate, then the engine stopped for a moment and the
breakers struck the side a terrific blow, causing the hull to creak and
groan as though it were human and about ready to collapse. The water in
the cabin overhead swished back and forth and the pots and kettles, as
they beat against the walls, kept time with the rolling and plunging of
the boat. The old tub righted herself, we had crossed the danger line,
and were heading straight for the harbor.
When we reached quiet water the old-timers shook their heads and vowed
that was their last trip in the _Bydarky_. What happened in the bunks no
one would tell, though at least one of the party said that during the
night he had offered many a silent prayer for the safety of the craft.
There was a foot of water on the cabin floor, the pots and pans were
drifting about amid a flotsam and jetsam of pork and beans, vegetables,
and what not.
Thus we reached Seldovia and learned that the steamer _Portland_ was
about due on her last trip for the season. Coming home by way of the
inside passage, we had a pleasant trip, full of interest in a hundred
ways. On one occasion, while many miles from land, a curious little bird
came fluttering from mast to mast. Evidently on its way south it had
become exhausted in the long flight from some northern point and had
taken a short cut across the water. Finally one of the passengers caught
the little fellow and it proved to be a crossbill. The mandibles of this
species are considerably crossed to assist in picking seeds from the
pine cones of the northern land. It stayed with us all day and seemed to
be perfectly contented and satisfied to be caressed in the open hand,
but just as soon as the boat neared land it took to wing and with a
graceful flight reached the timber safely. So the days passed until in
due time we arrived at Seattle, where we took the train for the East.