BASECAMP ON THESHORE OFYAKUTATBAY.
BASECAMP ON THESHORE OFYAKUTATBAY.
About the tents at Camp 3 the rank grass grew waist-high, sheltering the strawberries and dwarf raspberries that bloomed beneath. A little way back from the shore, clumps of alders, interspersed with spruce trees, marked the beginning of the forest which covered the hills toward the west and southwest. Toward the north rose rugged mountains, their summits shrouded in mist; in the steep gorges on their sides the ends of glaciers gleamed white, like foaming cataracts descending from cloudland.
The day following our arrival dawned bright and beautiful. Every cloud vanished from the mountains as by magic, revealing their magnificent summits in clear relief. We found ourselves at the base of a rugged mountain range extending far southeastward and northwestward, its first rampart so breached as to allow the waters of the ocean to extend into the very midst of the great peaks beyond. Through this opening we had a splendid view of the snow-clad mountains filling the northern sky and stretching away in lessening perspective toward the east until they blended with the distant clouds.
Topographic work was started, and the preparation of "packs" for the journey inland was begun at once; and all hands were kept busy. A base-line was measured by Mr. Kerr, and a beginning was made in the development of a system of triangulation which was carried on throughout the season.
Our stay at the camp on the shore extended over a week, and enabled us to become familiar with many of the changes in the rugged scenery surrounding Yakutat bay. The bay itself was covered with icebergs for most of the time. Owing to the prevailing winds and the action of shore currents, the ice accumulated on the coast adjacent to our camp. For many days the beach toward both the north and the south, as far as the eye could reach, was piled high with huge masses of blue and white ice. When the bay was rough, the surf roared angrily among the stranded bergs and, dashing over them, formed splendid sheets of foam; while on bright, sunny days the bay gleamed and flashed in the sunlight as the summer winds gently rippledits surface, and the thousands of icebergs crowding the azure plain seemed a numberless fleet of fairy boats with crystal hulls and fantastic sails of blue and white. When the long summer days drew to a close and gave place to the soft northern twilight, which in summer lasts until the glow of the returning sun is seen in the east, the sea and mountains assumed a soft, mysterious beauty never realized by dwellers in more southern climes. The hours of twilight were so enchanting, the varying shades and changing tints on the mighty snow-fields robing the mountains were so exquisite in their gradations that, even when weary with many hours of toil, the explorer could not resist the charm, and paced the sandy shore until the night was far spent. Sometimes in the twilight hours, long after the sun disappeared, the summits of the majestic peaks toward the east were transformed by the light of the after-glow into mountains of flame. As the light faded, the cold shadow of the world crept higher and higher up the crystal slopes until only the topmost spires and pinnacles were gilded by the sunset glow. At such times, when our eyes were weary with watching the gorgeous transformation of the snow-covered mountains and were turned to the far-reaching seaward view, we would be startled by the sight of a vast city, with battlements, towers, minarets, and domes of fantastic architecture, rising where we knew that only the berg-covered waters extended. The appearance of these phantom cities was a common occurrence during the twilight hours. Although we knew at once that the ghostly spires were but a trick of the mirage, yet their ever-changing shapes and remarkable mimicry of human habitations were so striking that they never lost their novelty; and they were never the same on two successive evenings. One of the most common deceptions of the mirage is the transformation of icebergs into the semblance of fountains gushing from the sea and expanding into graceful, sheaf-like shapes. The strangest freaks due to the refraction of light on hot deserts, which are usually supposed to be the home of the mirage, do not excite the traveler's wonder so much as the phantom cities seen in the uncertain twilight amid the ice-packs of the north.
When the slowly deepening twilight transformed mountains and seas into a dreamland picture, the harvest moon, strangely out of place in far northern skies, spread a sheet of silver behind the dark headlands toward the southeast, and then slowly appeared, not rising boldly toward the zenith, but tracing a lowarch in the southern heavens, to soon disappear into the sea toward the southwest. Brief as were her visits, they were always welcome and always brought the feeling that distant homes were nearer when the same light was visible to us and to loved ones far away. The soft moonlight dimmed the twilight, the after-glow faded from the highest peaks, and the short northern night came on.
After returning from the mountains, late in September, we were again encamped on the northwestern shore of Yakutat bay. A heavy northeast storm swept down from the mountains and awakened all the pent-up fury of the waves. The beach was crowded with bergs, among which the surf broke in great sheets of feathery foam; clouds of spray were dashed far above the icy ramparts, carrying with them fragments of ice torn from the bergs over which they swept; while the stranded bergs rocked violently to and fro as the waves burst over them. Sometimes the raging waters, angered by opposition, lifted the bergs in their mighty arms and, turning them over and over, dashed them high on the beach. It seemed as if spirits of the deep, unable to leave the water-world, were hurling their weapons at unseen enemies on the land. The fearful grandeur of the raging waters and of the dark storm-swept skies was, perhaps, enhanced by the fact that the landward-blowing gale, combined with a rising tide, threatened to sweep away our frail home. Each succeeding wave, as it rolled shoreward, sent a sheet of foam roaring and rushing up the beach and creeping nearer and nearer to our shelter until only a few inches intervened between the highwater line and the crest of the sand bank that protected us. The limit was reached at last, however, and the water slowly retreated, leaving a fringe of ice within arm's length of our tents.
The wild scene along the shore was especially grand at night. The stranded bergs, seen through the gloom, formed strange moving shapes, like vessels in distress. The white banners of spray seemed signals of disaster. An Armada, more numerous than ever sailed from the ports of Spain, was being crushed and ground to pieces by the hoarse wind and raging surf. Sleep was impossible, even if one cared to rest when sea and air and sky were joined in fierce conflict. Our tents, spared by the waves, were dashed down by the fierce north winds, and a lake in the forest toward the west overflowed its banks and discharged its flooding waters through our encampment. At last, tired anddiscomforted, we abandoned our tents and retreated to the neighboring forest and there took refuge in a cabin built near where a coal seam outcrops, and remained until the storm had spent its force. But I have anticipated, and must return to the thread of my narrative.
FIRSTDAY'STRAMP.
FIRSTDAY'STRAMP.
The impressions received during the first day spent on shore in a new country are always long remembered. Of several "first days" in my own calendar, there are none that exceed in interest my first excursions through the forest and over the hills west of Yakutat bay.
Every one about camp having plenty of work to occupy him through the day, I started out early on the morning of July 2, with only "Bud" and "Tweed" for companions. My objects were to reconnoiter the country to the westward, to learn what I could concerning its geology and glaciers, and to choose a line of march toward Mount St. Elias.
To the north of our camp, and about a mile distant, rose a densely wooded hill about 300 feet high, with a curving outline, convex southward. This hill had excited my curiosity on first catching sight of the shore, and I decided to make it my first study. Its position at the mouth of a steep gorge in the hills beyond, down which a small glacier flowed, suggested that it might be an ancient moraine, deposited at a time when the ice-stream advanced farther than at present. My surprise therefore was great when, after forcing my way through the dense thickets, I reached the top of the hill, and found a large kettle-shaped depression, the sides of which were solid walls of ice fifty feet high. This showed at once that the supposed hill was really the extremity of a glacier, long dead and deeply buried beneath forest-covered débris. In the bottom of the kettle-like depression lay a pond of muddy water, and, as the ice-cliffs about the lakelet melted in the warm sunlight, miniature avalanches of ice and stones, mingled with sticks and bushes that had been undermined, frequently rattled down its sides and splashed into the waters below. Further examination revealed the fact that scores of such kettles are scattered over the surface of the buried glacier. This ice-stream is that designated theGaliano glacieron the accompanying map.
Continuing on my way toward the mouth of the gorge in themountains above, I forced my way for nearly a mile through dense thickets, frequently making wide detours to avoid the kettle holes. At length the vegetation became less dense, and gave place to broad open fields of rocks and dirt, covering the glacier from side to side. This débris was clearly of the nature of a moraine, as the ice could be seen beneath it in numerous crevasses; but no division into marginal or medial moraines could be distinguished. It is really a thin, irregular sheet of comminuted rock, together with angular masses of sandstone and shale, the largest of which are ten or fifteen feet in diameter. When seen from a little distance the débris completely conceals the ice and forms a barren, rugged surface, the picture of desolation.
After traversing this naked area the clear ice in the center of the gorge was reached. All about were wild cliffs, stretching up toward the snow-covered peaks above; several cataracts of ice, formed by tributary glaciers descending through rugged, highly inclined channels, were in sight; while the snow-fields far above gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight, and now and then sent down small avalanches to awaken the echoes of the cliffs and fill the still air with a Babel of tongues.
Pushing on toward the western border of the glacier, across the barren field of stones, I came at length to the brink of a precipice of dirty ice more than a hundred feet high, at the foot of which flowed a swift stream of turbid water. A few hundred yards below, this stream suddenly disappeared beneath an archway formed by the end of a glacial tunnel, and its further course was lost to view. It was a strange sight to see a swift, foaming river burst from beneath overhanging ice-cliffs, roar along over a bowlder-covered bed, and then plunge into the mouth of a cavern, leaving no trace of its lower course except a dull, heavy rumbling far down below the icy surface. A still grander example of these glacial streams, observed a few days later, is described on another page.
The bank of the gulf opposite the point at which I first reached it is formed by a steep mountain-side supporting a dense growth of vegetation. Here and there, however, streams of water plunge down the slope, making a chain of foaming cascades, and opening the way through the vegetation. It seemed practicable to traverse one of these stream beds without great difficulty, and thus to reach the plateau which I knew, from a more distant view, to exist above.
Crossing the glacial river above the upper archway, I reached the mountain side and began to ascend. The task was far more difficult than anticipated. The bushes, principally of alder and currant, grew dense and extended their branches down the steep slope in such a manner that at times it was utterly impossible to force a way through them. Much of the way I crawled on hands and knees up the steep watercourse beneath the dense tangle of vegetation overhanging from either bank and interlacing in the center. On nearing the top I was so fortunate as to strike a bear trail, along which the animal had forced his way through the bushes, making an opening like a tunnel. Through this I ascended to the top of the slope, coming out in a wild amphitheatre in the side of the mountain. The bottom of the amphitheatre was exceedingly rough, owing to confused moraine-heaps, and held a number of small lakes. On account of its elevation, it was not densely covered with bushes, and no trees were in sight except along its southern margin. About its northern border ran a broad terrace, marking the height of the great glacier which formerly occupied the site of Yakutat bay. The terrace formed a convenient pathway leading westward to a sharp ridge running out from the mountains and connecting with an outstanding butte, which promised to afford an unobstructed view to the westward.
Pressing on, I found that the terrace on which I was traveling at length became a free ridge, some three hundred feet high, with steep slopes on either side, like a huge railroad embankment. This ridge swept across the valley in a graceful curve, and shut off a portion of the western part of the amphitheatre from the general drainage. In the portion thus isolated there was a lake without an outlet, still frozen. The snow banks bordering the frozen lake were traced in every direction by the trails of bears. Continuing my tramp, I crossed broad snow-fields, climbed the ridge to the westward, and obtained a far-reaching, unobstructed view of the surrounding country. The elevation reached was only about 1,500 feet above sea-level, but was above the timber line. The mountain slopes toward the north were bare of vegetation and generally covered with snow.
The first object to claim attention was the huge pyramid forming the summit of Mount St. Elias, which stood out clear and sharp against the northwestern sky. Although thirty-six miles distant, it dominated all other peaks in view and rose far abovethe rugged crests of nearer ranges, many of which would have been counted magnificent mountains in a less rugged land. This was the first view of the great peak obtained by any of our party. Not a cloud obscured the defination of the mountain; and the wonderful transparency of the atmosphere, after so many days of mist and rain, was something seldom if ever equalled in less humid lands.
Much nearer than St. Elias, and a little west of north of my station, rose Mount Cook, one of the most beautiful peaks in the region. Its summit, unlike the isolated pyramid in which St. Elias terminates, is formed of three white domes, with here and there subordinate pinnacles of pure white, shooting up from the snow-fields like great crystals. On the southern side of Mount Cook there are several rugged and angular ridges, which sweep away for many miles and project like headlands into the sea of ice, known as the Malaspina glacier, bordering the ocean toward the southwest. Between the main ridges there are huge trunk glaciers, each contributing its flood of ice to the great glacier below; and each secondary valley and each amphitheatre among the peaks, no matter how small, has its individual glacier, and the majority of these are tributary to the larger ice-streams. All the mountains in sight exceeding 2,000 feet in elevation were white with snow, except the sharpest ridges and boldest precipices. The attention of the geologist is attracted by the fact that all the foot-hills of Mount Cook are composed of gray sandstone and black shale; and he also observes that the angular mountain crest so sharply drawn against the sky furnishes abundant evidence that the mountains were never subjected to the abrasion of a continuous ice-sheet.
As I stood on the steep-sloped ridge, the Atrevida and Lucia glaciers, their surfaces covered from side to side with angular masses of sandstone and shale, lay at my feet; while farther up the valley the débris on the surface of the ice disappeared, and all above was a winter landscape. The brown, desolate débris-fields on the glacier at my feet extended far southward, and covered the expanded ice-foot in which the glacier terminates. Most curious of all was the fact that the moraines on the lower border of the glacier were concealed from view by a dense covering of vegetation, and in places were clothed with forests of spruce trees.
To the southward, beyond the end of the Lucia glacier, and separated from it by a torrent-swept bowlder-bed, lay a vastplateau of ice which stretched toward the south and west farther than the eye could reach. This is the Malaspina glacier, shown on plate 8. Its borders, like the expanded extremity of the Lucia glacier, are covered with débris, on the outer margins of which dense vegetation has taken root. All the central portion of the ice-sheet is clear of moraines, and shone in the sunlight like a vast snow-field. The heights formerly reached by the nearer glaciers were plainly marked along the mountain sides by well-defined terraces, sloping with the present drainage. When the Lucia glacier was at its flood the ridge on which I stood was only 200 or 300 feet above its surface; now it approaches 1,000 feet.
Turning toward the southeast, I could look down upon the waters of Yakutat bay, with its thousands of floating icebergs, and could distinguish the white breakers as they rolled in on Ocean cape. Beyond Yakutat stretches a forest-covered plateau between the mountains and the sea, and the eye could range far over the mountains bordering this plateau on the northeast. In the distance, fully a hundred miles away, stood Mount Fairweather, its position rendered conspicuous by a bank of shining clouds floating serenely above its cold summit.
The mountains directly east of Yakutat bay rise to a general height of about 8,000 feet, but are without especially prominent peaks. In a general way they form a rugged plateau, which has been dissected in various channels to depth of 2,000 or 3,000 feet. Nearly all of the plateau, including mountains and valleys, is covered with snow-fields and glaciers; but none of the ice-streams, so far as can be seen from a distance, descend below an elevation of about 4,000 or 5,000 feet. This region is as yet untraversed; and when the explorer enters it, it is quite possible that deep drainage lines will be found through which glaciers may descend nearly or quite to sea-level.
After drinking in the effect of the magnificent landscape and endeavoring to impress every detail in the rugged topography upon my memory, and having finished writing my notes, it was time to return; for the sun was already declining toward the west. Wishing to see more of the wonderful land about me, I concluded to descend the western slope of the ridge upon which I stood, and to return to camp by following a stream which issues from the Atrevida glacier directly below my station and empties into Yakutat bay a mile or two south of our third camp.
The quickest and easiest way down was to slide on the snow. Using my alpenstock as a brake, I descended swiftly several hundred feet without difficulty, the dogs bounding along beside me, when on looking up I was startled to see two huge brown bears on the same snow surface, a little to the left and not more than a hundred and fifty yards away. Had my slide been continued a few seconds more I should have been in exceedingly unwelcome company. I was unarmed, and entirely unprepared for a fight with two of the most savage animals found in this country. The bears had long yellowish-brown hair, and were of the size and character of the "grizzly," with which they are thought by hunters, if not by naturalists, to be specifically identical. They were not at all disturbed by my presence, and in spite of my shouts, which I thought would make them travel off, one of them came leisurely toward me. His strides over the snow revealed a strength and activity commanding admiration despite the decidedly uncomfortable feeling awakened by his proximity and evident curiosity. Later in the season I measured the tracks of an animal of the same species, made while walking over a soft, level surface, and found each impression to measure 9 by 17 inches, and the stride to reach 64 inches. So far as I have been able to learn, this is the largest bear track that has been reported. Realizing my danger, I continued my snow slide, but in a different direction and with accelerated speed. The upper limit of the dense thicket clothing the slope of the mountain was soon reached, and my unwelcome companions were lost to sight.
Following the bed of a torrent fed by the snow-fields above, I soon came to the creek chosen for my route back to camp; the waters, brown and turbid with sediment, welled out of a cavern at the foot of an ice precipice 200 feet high, and formed a roaring stream too deep and too swift for fording. The roaring of the brown waters and the startling noises made by stones rattling down the ice-cliff, together with the dark shadows of the deep gorge, walled in by a steep mountain slope on one side and a glacier on the other, made the route seem uncanny. On the sands filling the spaces between the bowlders there were many fresh bear tracks, which at least suggested that the belated traveler should be careful in his movements.
This locality was afterward occupied as a camping place, and is shown in the picture forming plate 10. The dark-colored ice,mixed with stones and earth, might easily be mistaken for stratified rock; but the dirt discoloring the ice is almost entirely superficial. The crest of the cliff is formed of débris, and is the edge of the sheet of stones and earth covering the general surface of the glacier. Owing to the constant melting, stones and bowlders are continually loosened to rattle down the steep slope and plunge into the water beneath.
I followed down the bank of the stream, by springing from bowlder to bowlder, for about a mile, and then came to a steep bluff, the western side of which was swept by the roaring flood. The banks above were clothed with spruce trees and dense underbrush; but, there being no alternative, I entered the forest and slowly worked my way in the direction of camp. To traverse the unbroken forests of southern Alaska is always difficult, even when one is fresh; and, weary as I was with many hours of laborious climbing, my progress was slow indeed. One of the principal obstacles encountered in threading these Arctic jungles is the plant known as the "Devil's club" (Panax horridum), which grows to a height of ten or fifteen feet, and has broad, palmate leaves that are especially conspicuous in autumn, owing to their bright yellow color. The stems of this plant run on the earth for several feet and then curve upward. Every portion of its surface, even to the ribs of the leaves, is thickly set with spines, which inflict painful wounds, and, breaking off in the flesh, cause festering sores. In forcing a way through the brush one frequently treads on the prostrate portion of these thorny plants, and not infrequently is made aware of the fact by a blow on the head or in the face from the over-arching stems.
I struggled on through the tangled vegetation until the sun went down and the woods became dark and somber. Thick moss, into which the foot sank as in a bed of sponge, covered the ground everywhere to the depth of two or three feet; each fallen trunk was a rounded mound of green and brown, decked with graceful equiseta and ferns, or brilliant with flowers, but most treacherous and annoying to the belated traveler. In the gloom of the dim-lit woods, the trees, bearded with moss, assumed strange, fantastic shapes, which every unfamiliar sound seemed to start into life; while the numerous trails made by the bears in forcing their way through the thick tangle were positive evidence that not all the inhabitants of the forest were creatures of the imagination. My faithful companions, "Bud" and"Tweed" showed signs of weariness, and offered no objection when I started a fire and expressed my intention of spending the night beneath the wide-spreading branches of a moss-covered evergreen. Having a few pieces of bread in my pocket, I shared them with the dogs, and stretching myself on a luxuriant bank of lichens tried to sleep, only to find the mosquitoes so energetic that there was no hope of passing the night in comfort.
After resting I felt refreshed, and concluded to press on through the gathering darkness, and after another hour of hard work I came out of the forest and upon a field of torrent-swept bowlders, deposited by the stream which I had left farther up. I was surprised to find that the twilight was not so far spent as I had fancied. The way ahead being free of vegetation, I hastened on, and after traveling about two miles was rejoiced by the sight of a camp-fire blazing in the distance. The warm fire and a hearty supper soon made me forget the fatigues of the day.
This, my first day's exploration, must stand as an example of many similar days spent on the hills and in the forests northwest of Yakutat bay, of which it is not necessary to give detailed descriptions.
CANOETRIP INDISENCHANTMENTBAY.
CANOETRIP INDISENCHANTMENTBAY.
On July 3, I continued my examination of the region about the head of Yakutat bay by making a canoe trip up Disenchantment bay to Haenke island. With the assistance of Christie and Crumback, our canoe was launched through the surf without difficulty, and we slowly worked our way through the fields of floating ice which covered all the upper portion of the inlet. The men plied the oars with which the canoe was fortunately provided, while I directed its course with a paddle. A heavy swell rolling in from the ocean rendered the task of choosing a route through the grinding ice-pack somewhat difficult. After four or five hours of hard work, during which time several vain attempts were made to traverse leads in the ice which had only one opening, we succeeded in reaching the southern end of the island.
The shores of Haenke island are steep and rocky, and, so far as I am aware, afford only one cove in which a boat can take refuge. This is at the extreme southern point, and is not visible until its entrance is reached. A break or fissure in the rocks there admits of the accumulation of stone and sand, and thishas been extended by the action of the waves and tides until a beach a hundred feet in length has been deposited. The dashing of the bowlders and sand against the cliffs at the head of the cove by the incoming waves has increased its extension in that direction so as to form a well-sheltered refuge. The absence of beaches on other portions of the island is due to the fact that its bordering precipices descend abruptly into deep water, and do not admit of the accumulation of débris about their bases. Without stones and sand with which the waves can work, the excavation of terraces is an exceedingly slow operation. The precipitous nature of the borders of the island is due, to some extent at least, to the abrasion of the rocks by the glacial ice which once encircled it.
Pulling our canoe far up on the beach, we began the ascent of the cliffs. Hundreds of sea birds, startled from their nests by our intrusion, circled fearlessly about our heads and filled the air with their wild cries. The more exposed portions of the slopes were bare of vegetation, but in the shelter of every depression dense thickets obstructed the way. Many of the little basins between the rounded knolls hold tarns of fresh water, and were occupied at the time of our visit by flocks of gray geese. It is evident that the island was intensely glaciated at no distant day. The surfaces of its rounded domes are so smoothly polished that they glitter like mirrors in the sunlight. On the polished surfaces there are deep grooves and fine, hair-like lines, made by the stones set in the bottom of the glacier which once flowed over the island and removed all of the rocks that were not firm and hard. On many of the domes of sandstone there rest bowlders of a different character, which have evidently been brought from the mountains toward the northeast.
The summit of the island is about 800 feet above the level of the sea, and, like its sides, is polished and striated. The terraces on the mountains of the mainland show that the glacier which formerly flowed out from Disenchantment bay must have been fully 2,000 feet deep. The bed it occupied toward the south is now flooded by the waters of Yakutat bay.
At the time of Malaspina's visit, 100 years ago, the glaciers from the north reached Haenke island, and surrounded it on three sides.27At the rate of retreat indicated by comparingMalaspina's records with the present condition, the glaciers must have reached Point Esperanza, at the mouth of Disenchantment bay, about 200 years ago; and an allowance of between 500 and 1,000 years would seem ample for the retreat of the glaciers since they were at their flood.
27The map accompanying Malaspina's report and indicating these conditions has already been mentioned, and is reproduced onplate 7, page 67.
Reaching the topmost dome of Haenke island, a wonderful panorama of snow-covered mountains, glaciers, and icebergs lay before us. The island occupies the position of the stage in a vast amphitheatre; the spectators are hoary mountain peaks, each a monarch robed in ermine and bidding defiance to the ceaseless war of the elements. How insignificant the wanderer who confronts such an audience, and how weak his efforts to describe such a scene!
From a wild cliff-enclosed valley toward the north, guarded by towering pinnacles and massive cliffs, flows a great glacier, the fountains of which are far back in the heart of the mountains beyond the reach of vision. Having vainly sought an Indian name for this ice-stream, I concluded to christen it theDalton glacier, in honor of John Dalton, a miner and frontiersman now living at Yakutat, who is justly considered the pioneer explorer of the region. The glacier is greatly shattered and pinnacled in descending its steep channel, and on reaching the sea it expands into a broad ice-foot. The last steep descent is made just before gaining the water, and is marked by crevasses and pinnacles of magnificent proportion and beautiful color. This is one of the few glaciers in the St. Elias region that has well-defined medial and lateral moraines. At the bases of the cliffs on the western side there is a broad, lateral moraine, and in the center, looking like a winding road leading up the glacier, runs a triple-banded ribbon of débris, forming a typical medial moraine. The morainal material carried by the glacier is at last deposited at its foot, or floated away by icebergs, and scattered far and wide over the bottom of Yakutat bay.
The glacier expands on entering the water, as is the habit of all glaciers when unconfined, and ends in magnificent ice-cliffs some two miles in length. The water dashing against the bases of the cliffs dissolves them away, and the tides tend to raise and lower the expanded ice-foot. The result is that huge masses, sometimes reaching from summit to base of the cliffs, are undermined, and topple over into the sea with a tremendous crash. Owing to the distance of the glacier from Haenke island, we couldsee the fall long before the roar reached our ears; the cliffs separated, and huge masses seemed to sink without a sound; the spray thrown up as the blue pinnacles disappeared ascended like gleaming rockets, sometimes as high as the tops of the cliffs, and then fell back in silent cataracts of foam. Then a noise as of a cannonade came rolling across the waters and echoing from cliff to cliff. The roar of the glacier continues all day when the air is warm and the sun bright, and is most active when the summer days are finest. Sometimes, roar succeeded roar, like artillery fire, and the salutes were answered, gun for gun, by the great Hubbard glacier, which pours its flood of ice into the fjord a few miles further northeastward. This ice-stream, most magnificent of the tide-water glaciers of Alaska yet discovered, and a towering mountain peak from which the glacier receives a large part of its drainage, were named in honor of Gardiner G. Hubbard, president of the National Geographic Society.
Hubbard Glacier
Hubbard Glacier
Looking across the waters of the bay, whitened by thousands of floating bergs, we could see three miles of the ice-cliffs formed where the Hubbard glacier enters the sea. A dark headland on the shore of the mainland to the right shut off the full view of the glacier but formed a strongly drawn foreground, which enhanced the picturesque effect of the scenery. The Hubbard glacier flows majestically through a deep valley leading back into the mountains, and has two main branches, with a smaller and steeper tributary between. These branches unite to form a single ice-foot extending into the bay. The western branch has a dark medial moraine down its center, which makes a bold, sweeping curve before joining the main stream. There is also a broad lateral débris-belt along the bases of the cliffs forming its right bank. The whole surface of the united glacier, and all of the white tongues running back into the mountains beyond the reach of vision, are broken and shattered, owing to the steepness and roughness of the bed over which they flow. The surface, where not concealed by morainal material, is snow-white; but in the multitude of crevasses the blue ice is exposed, and gives a greenish-blue tint to the entire stream. Where the subglacial slopes are steep, the ice is broken into pinnacles and towers of the grandest description.
On the steep mountain sides sloping toward the Hubbard glacier there are more than a dozen secondary ice-streams which are tributary to it. The amphitheatres in which the glacier hasits beginnings have never been seen; but our general knowledge of the fountains from which glaciers flow assures us that not only scores but hundreds of other secondary and tertiary glaciers far back into the mountains contribute their floods to the same great stream.
After being received on board theCorwin, late in September, we had an opportunity to view the great sea-cliffs of the Hubbard glacier near at hand. Captain Hooper, attracted by the magnificent scenery, took his vessel up Disenchantment bay to a point beyond Haenke island, whence a view could be had of the eastern extension of the inlet. So far as is known, theCorwinwas the first vessel to navigate those waters. Soundings made between the island and the ice-foot gave forty to sixty fathoms. At the elbow, where the southeastern shore of the bay turns abruptly eastward, there is a low islet not represented on any map previous to the one made by the recent expedition, which commands even a wider prospect than can be obtained from Haenke island. Future visitors to this remote coast should endeavor to reach this islet, after having beheld the grand panorama obtainable from the summit of Haenke island. The portion of Disenchantment bay stretching eastward from the foot of Hubbard glacier is enclosed on all sides by bold mountains, the lower slopes of which have the subdued and flowing outlines characteristic of glaciated regions. Several glaciers occur in the high-grade lateral valleys opening from the bay; but these have recently retreated, and none of them have sufficient volume at present to reach the water. The general recession, in which all the glaciers of Alaska are participating, is manifested here by the broad débris fields, which cover all the lower ice-streams not ending in the sea. The absence of vegetation on the smooth rocks recently abandoned by the ice also tells of recent climatic changes.
A débris-covered glacier, so completely concealed by continuous sheets of stones and earth that its true character can scarcely be recognized, descends from the mountains just east of Hubbard glacier. It is formed by the union of two principal tributaries, and, on reaching comparatively level ground, expands into a broad ice-foot, but does not have sufficient volume to reach the sea. Another glacier, of smaller size but of the same general character, lies between the Hubbard and Dalton glaciers.
In a rugged defile in the mountains just west of Haenke island there is another small dirt-covered glacier, which creeps down from the precipices above and reaches within a mile of the water.At its end there is a cliff of black, dirty ice, scarcely to be distinguished from rock at a little distance, from the base of which flows a turbid stream. This glacier is covered so completely with earth and stones that not a vestige of the ice can be seen unless we actually traverse its surface. Its appearance suggests the name ofBlack glacier, by which it is designated on the accompanying map.
The visitor to Haenke island has examples of at least two well-marked types of glaciers in view: The small débris-covered ice-streams, too small to reach the water, are typical of a large class of glaciers in southern Alaska, which are slowly wasting away and have become buried beneath débris concentrated at the surface by reason of their own melting. The Galiano glacier is a good example of this class. The Hubbard and Dalton glaciers are fine examples of another class of ice-streams which flow into the sea and end in ice-cliffs, and which for convenience we calltide-water glaciers. Nowhere can finer or more beautiful examples of this type be found than those in view from Haenke island.
The formation of icebergs from the undermining and breaking down of the ice-cliffs of the tide-water glaciers has already been mentioned. But there is another method by which bergs are formed—a process even more remarkable than the avalanches that occur when portions of the ice-cliffs topple over into the sea. The ice-cliffs at the foot of the tide-water glaciers are really sea-cliffs formed by the waves cutting back a terrace in the ice. The submerged terrace is composed of ice, and may extend out a thousand feet or more in front of the visible part of the ice-cliffs. These conditions are represented in the accompanying diagram (figure 1), which exhibits a longitudinal section of the lower end of a tide-water glacier where it pushes out into the sea.
As the sea-cliff of ice recedes and the submerged terrace increases in breadth there comes a time when the buoyancy of theice at the bottom exceeds its strength, and pieces break off and rise to the surface. The water about the ends of the glaciers is so intensely muddy that the submerged ice-foot is hidden from view, and its presence would not be suspected were it not for the fragments occasionally rising from it. The sudden appearance of these masses of bottom ice at the surface is always startling. While watching the ice-cliffs and admiring the play of colors in the deep crevasses which penetrate them in every direction, or tracing in fancy the strange history of the silent river and wondering in what age the snows fell on the mountains, which are now returning to their parent, the sea, one is frequently awakened by a commotion in the waters below, perhaps several hundred feet in front of the ice-cliffs. At first it seems as if some huge sea-monster had risen from the deep and was lashing the waters into foam; but soon the waters part, and a blue island rises to the surface, carrying hundreds of tons of water, which flows down its sides in cataracts of foam. Some of the bergs turn completely over on emerging, and thus add to the tumult and confusion that attends their birth. The waves roll away in widening circles, to break in surf on the adjacent shores, and an island of ice of the most lovely blue floats serenely away to join the thousands of similar islands that have preceded it. The fragments of the glacier rising from the bottom in this manner are usually larger than those broken from the faces of the ice-cliffs, sometimes measuring 200 or 300 feet in diameter. Their size and the suddenness with which they rise would insure certain destruction of a vessel venturing too near the treacherous ice-walls.
At the time of our visit to Haenke island, the entire surface of Disenchantment bay and all of Yakutat bay as far southward as we could see formed one vast field of floating ice. Most of the bergs were small, but here and there rose masses which measured 150 by 200 feet on their sides and stood 40 or 50 feet out of the water. The bergs are divided, in reference to color, into three classes—the white, the blue, and the black. The white ones are those that have fallen from the face of the ice-walls or those that have been sufficiently exposed to the atmosphere to become melted at the surface and filled with air cavities. The blue bergs are of many shades and tints, finding their nearest match in color in Antwerp blue. These are the ones that have recently risen from the submerged ice-foot, or have turned over owing to a change of position in the center of gravity. Rapid as is themelting of the ice when exposed to the air, it seems to liquefy even more quickly when submerged. The changes thus produced finally cause the bergs to reverse their positions in the water. This is done without the slightest warning, and is one of the greatest dangers to be guarded against while canoeing among them. The white color presented by the majority of the bergs is changed to blue when they become stranded, and the surf breaks over them and dissolves away their porous surfaces. A few of the bergs are black in color, owing to the dirt and stones that they carry on their surfaces or frozen in their mass. Quantities of débris are thus floated away from the tide-water glaciers and strewn over the bottoms of the adjacent inlets.
This digression may be wearisome, but one cannot stand on Haenke island without wishing to know all the secrets of the great ice-streams that flow silently before him.
Returning from our commanding station at the summit of the island to where we left our canoe, we were surprised and not a little startled to find that the tide had run out and left the strand between our canoe and the water completely blocked with huge fragments of ice. There was no way left for us to launch our canoe except by cutting away and leveling off the ice with our axe, so as to form a trail over which we could drag it to the water. This we did, and then, poising the canoe on a low flat berg, half of which extended beneath the water, I took my place in it with paddle in hand, while Christie and Crumback, waiting for the moment when a large wave rolled in, launched the canoe far out in the surf. By the vigorous use of my paddle I succeeded in reaching smooth water and brought the canoe close under the cliff forming the southern side of the cove, where the men were able to drop in as a wave rolled under us.
We slowly worked our way down the bay through blue lanes in the ice-pack, against an incoming tide, and reached our tents near sunset. Thus ended one of the most enjoyable and most instructive days at Yakutat bay.
FROMYAKUTATBAY TOBLOSSOMISLAND.
FROMYAKUTATBAY TOBLOSSOMISLAND.
Our camp on the shore of Yakutat bay was held for several days after returning from Haenke island, but in the meantime an advance-camp was established on the side of the Lucia glacier, from which Mr. Kerr and myself made explorations ahead.
Before leaving the base-camp I visited Black glacier for the purpose of taking photographs and studying the appearance of an old glacier far spent and fast passing away. This, like the Galiano glacier, is a good example of a great number of ice-streams in the same region which are covered from side to side with débris. The cañon walls on either side rise precipitously, and their lower slopes, for the height of 200 or 300 feet, are bare of vegetation. The surface of the glacier has evidently sunken to this extent within a period too short to allow of the accumulation of soil and the rooting of plants on the slopes. The banks referred to are in part below the upper limit of timber growth, and the adjacent surfaces are covered with bushes, grasses, and flowers. Under the climatic conditions there prevailing, it is evident that the formation of soil and the spreading of plants over areas abandoned by ice is a matter of comparatively few years. It is for this reason that a very recent retreat of Black glacier is inferred. Many of the glaciers in southern Alaska give similar evidence of recent contraction, and it is evident that a climatic change is in progress which is either decreasing the winter's snow or increasing the summer's heat. The most sensitive indicators of these changes, responding even more quickly than does the vegetation, are the glaciers.
The fourth of July was spent by us in cutting a trail up the steep mountain slope to the amphitheatre visited during my first tramp. No one can appreciate the density and luxuriance of the vegetation on the lower mountain in that region until he has cut a passage through it. Seven men, working continuously for six or seven hours with axes and knives, were able to open a comparatively good trail about a mile in length. The remainder of the way was along stream courses and up bowlder-washes, which were free from vegetation. In the afternoon, having finished our task, a half-holiday was spent in an exciting search for two huge brown bears discovered by one of the party, but they vanished before the guns could be brought out.
The next day an advance-camp was made in the amphitheatre above timber line, and there Mr. Kerr and myself passed the night, molested only by swarms of mosquitoes, and the day following occupied an outstanding butte as a topographical station. In the afternoon of the same day the advance-camp was moved to the border of the Atrevida glacier at a point already described, where a muddy stream gushes out from under the ice.