CHAPTER VII.

OCT. 30.—Returned last night from a six days' trip up Hunt River. Clyde and I started together with the expectation of getting far into the mountain ranges. As has been my custom from a small boy when starting on a trip. I made big preparations, much bigger than necessary. We had grub enough for two weeks. The boys expected great things on our return—bear, deer and other game, all of which was confidently promised. But to tell the honest truth, I wanted to get some chickadees and butcher birds. To carry our voluminous outfit we appropriated a sled belonging to a neighboring Indian who had gone fishing. These nativesleds are very light, having birch runners, and slender spruce frame-work, the whole strongly lashed together with raw-hide thongs. Every morning before loading we poured water on the runners, thus forming an ice shoe. As yet there is no snow, so that our route necessarily lay along the frozen river, which was covered with a foot of ice. Our load weighed about three hundred pounds, and where the ice was smooth little exertion was needed to draw the sled as fast as we could walk. In some places sand had blown into the ice and such spots would give us hard work. We wore "creepers" on our heavy boots—that is, a kind of conical pointed spike, screwed into the bottoms, three into the heel and four into the sole of the shoe. With these we can walk anywhere up or down upon the ice without slipping. In traveling, one of us pulled the sled, with the rope over his shoulder, while the other pushed. Across the rear of the sled were two sticks projecting backwards and upwards, with a cross-piece to push against, baby-carriage fashion.

The first day we made rapid progress, making twenty-five miles. We camped at night not far from the first foot-hills. The tent was raised in a grove of cottonwoods near the river, and soon a fire roared in the camp stove. When I had the fire well started, I went down to get a pail of water. I walked to the middle of the creek and began to chop hard where I thought the ice was thinnest. Sure enough I had judged correctly, for with the second stroke the ice gave way under me, and down I went to the arm-pits in the icy water. I had fallen through an air hole. Luckily the ice all around was firm, so that I could raise myself up and wriggle out, or else my bath might have been continued. As it was, before I could reach the tent my clothes were frozen stiff. The temperature was below zero.

Fortunately for me I had a warm tent and a change of clothes to go to. Meanwhile Clyde had cut a big pile of wood and soon we were wrestling with piles of flapjacks.

After supper I had another experience with the ice. Forgetting that I had exchanged my wet boots for a pair of shoes without creepers in them. I started to go across the river. After the first ice had formed the river had fallen, and now the ice sagged downward from the banks towards the middle, hammock-wise. As soon as I stepped on the ice my feet flew out from under me and down I slid. I got up, no worse for wear, but with a sudden recollection that I had no creepers on. I cautiously started to walk to the bank, but on account of the slant of the slippery ice, I could make little headway before slipping back. I was in a similar position to that of a mouse in a tin basin. Finally by walking down the river a short distance, I pulled myself up by an overhanging willow.

Next morning at sunrise—eight o'clock—we started on up the river. Soon we came to long stretches of open water where the stream had been too swift to freeze over. In several places the icy margin was so narrow that it afforded room for but one runner on the ice, and we had to drag the sled over pebbles and sand.

Owing to the fact that the stream became swifter the further we went, we turned about and started back with a view to making camp among the willows down the river, where we had seen the most birds on the way up.

Native Method of Piling Winter Wood.

Clyde shot twice with his rifle at a red fox, but missed it. He got "rattled." as one usually does when shooting at game, and as I have seen good hunters do. He tried a target at the same distance as the fox had been and hit the bull's-eye squarely.

We got down to the willows late in the evening, but in time to select a sheltered place for the tent before dark. While I cooked the supper Clyde gathered a large stack of hay for our bed. In a swale near by the finest kind of red-top hay, all cured, stood waist deep. Here, among the willows, eight miles from Camp Penelope, we remained for four nights. There were a good many fox and wolf tracks in the sand, and I had my traps set all the time, but withoutsuccess. However. I obtained a mouse new to me—the lemming. Clyde tramped through the country toward the mountains, but saw nothing of importance. He fished and brought back three grayling. I paid my respects to the small birds and secured four rare chickadees, besides several redpolls, pine grosbeaks. Alaskan jay, grouse, ptarmigan, etc. I had bad luck with ptarmigan. I missed seven good shots for some reason. The ptarmigan are now clothed in very thick winter plumage, which may account for it in part.

I secured five. They are pure, spotless white with black tails. They are very conspicuous now, until the snow comes, and they seem to realize it, for they are extremely shy. They remain in flocks in the willow thickets. In the middle of the day they may be found dusting themselves on the sunny side of the river banks among the willows. Their tracks are everywhere. Although there is no snow on the ground, in many places there is a thick layer of hoar frost on the sand and grass, and tracks of any bird or animal are easily seen.

The days have grown very short now. We would have to light our candle by half-past hour, and soon we would begin to yawn, and by six we would go to sleep, not to get up again until eight the next morning; and even then it is with reluctance, on account of the cold. The tent was easy to keep comfortably warm on the inside as long as the fire burned in the stove, but in an hour after the fire went out it was as cold inside as it was outside. Clyde and I slept on the hay with two pairs of blankets under us, and two pairs over us, and a large canvas sheet outside of the blankets well tucked in. And the blankets were no common ones. They were made for the Arctic trade, and were as thick as an ordinary comforter. And then we wore all our clothes. Each had on three pairs of heavy wool socks, a hood and mittens.

In the morning the edges of the blankets were faced with ice from our breath, and the inside of the tent sparkled with a beauty I cannot describe. It was fourteen degrees below zero the last morning, and the boys at home declared we got "frozen out," the reason we returned so soon. When they found out that we did not go even to the foot of the mountains, but had camped all that time in the willows just across the river, they ridiculed us unmercifully, especially the doctor. But I'll be even with him some bright Arctic day. He even insinuated that I went on that trip just to be able to cook as much mush as I wanted to eat. I will admit that mush was a very agreeable feature of the trip.

I really obtained what I went for—the chickadees. I have tramped with a burro (a California donkey), a canoe, and at last with a sled, and I must say that the sled is preferable when one has a level surface to travel over.

We had carried grub for two weeks, a 7 × 10 tent, camp stove and three lengths of pipe, four pairs of blankets, tent fly, sailor bag full of clothing, axe, hatchet, camera, two guns, traps, etc. I think I will make another trip soon if the weather remains clear.

Nov. 7.—A week ago Dr. Coffin, Clyde and Rivers, with a Dr. Gleaves of the Hanson Camp below us, started up the Kowak to visit the other section of our company about one hundred and fifty miles north, and to find out all the news of interest along the route. They walked, carrying food, abundant clothing, and camping tools, on a sled. They hope to make the round trip in three weeks. I had intended to make the trip with them, but have not yet put up all the birds in my possession, and must work on them. We are a small family now, only six. C. C. still cooks, and I am willing he should continue the good work. He makes pies and cakes almost "as good as mother used to make," and fine yeast bread.

A damp, raw east wind makes it bitterly cold to-day. At daylight this morning I went across the river to the willows for a couple of hours. It was six degrees below zero when I started, and I wore only a thin hood and mittens and a canvas jumper. By the time I got well across I felt nearly frozen, and as soon as possible I built a fire. My nose was frost-bitten before I knew it. I shot a ptarmigan and two redpolls before returning.

Chenetto, one of our native neighbors, trapped a big gray wolf, a white fox and a red fox last week, I have tried to trade for them, but the natives say they need them for clothing; and they very plainly do, for these are the poorest Indians we have met. I regret our opportunity for trading down at Cape Prince of Wales. We expected the same advantage in Kotzebue, but are disappointed. One or two of our company keep an eye on special bargains and appropriate them.

Last week a German called at every camp on the Kowak working up a "winter mailroute." He had skated up from the mouth of the river, and proposed to take letters down to Cape Blossom for one dollar each. A reindeer team is expected there from St. Michaels in December which will bring in or carry back any mail. He is called "The Flying Dutchman."

Another man from up the river came down yesterday on the same business, proposing further to take mail himself to St. Michaels. Some of our Iowa neighbors warned us of him as a possible "crook." He claims to have seven hundred letters promised at one dollar each. One meets all kinds of people in this desolate country, and even the face of a "crook" is not rare.

The "Flying Dutchman."

Schemers are trying various ways to get money. The gold proposition here is an entire failure so far, and the stories published are no better than "made up on purpose." It is supposed they were constructed by the transportation companies, and surely these have reaped a harvest this year. A thousand men are in winter quarters in the Kotzebue region, besides the many who went back the last thing in the fall. Hundreds of thousands of dollars were expended by parties coming here, and nothing is taken out; all of that money going to the transportation companies and merchants of San Francisco and Seattle. The H—— crowd alone, who are camped five miles below us, paid $31,000 for their outfit, including sailing vessel and river steamer. Part of this company got "cold feet" and went back, and the remainder have tons of provisions here to dispose of. They cannot get it into the interior to the Klondike regions, and so they will have to transport it all back down the river and so on to San Francisco, unless they can dispose of it on the way, which is not likely. It is strange how many fools were started to this country by bogus reports in the newspapers. Each party thought itself about the only one coming up here, and, what is most amusing, many of them had a "sure thing." Several parties whom we know of paid someone for a "tip" as to the exact place where the gold was waiting for the lucky men to pick it up. When they arrived at the Sound they rushed as soon as their feet could carry them, to take possession of their promised gold, only to find that they had been duped. They returned with righteous indignation burning in their bosoms, and to this day and for all time to come, justice is in hiding for the scoundrels, if they are found.

This country may possibly have gold in it, for I know that it has not been prospected as it should. Men pan out on a sand-bar of a river here and there and are discouraged at finding nothing. And moreover they will not do another stroke of work, but either return to the States, or camp somewhere waiting for "another man" to sink shafts and do what we know is real prospecting. I should not be surprised if three-fourths of the people on this river are idle, waiting for the others to dig. I know that our camp has done practically nothing, as may be seen from the reports which I have made, when I myself was supposed to be one of the prospectors. We are all equally guilty. It seems that people expected to find mines all ready to work, and, since none are visible, sit down and give it up. Our company, as well as many another, is something of a farce when it comes to being a "mining company." We are doing nothing. It seems that when the gold fever takes hold of a man it deprives him of a fair proportion of his reason. But it cannot be denied that we are getting experience. Who would not be a miner under such comfortable circumstances as ours? Meanwhile I am skinning mice and chickadees. I am doing exactly what I want to do, and work here is original work of which I shall be glad in time to come. I would be nowhere else In the world than right here now. One cannot take a stroll in the Arctics every day. I am resolved to remain as long as I can and improve my opportunities. If the company disbands I shall stay with the missionaries. I do not know what this gold-hunting expedition came up here for unless to accommodate me, unintentionally of course. Everything delights me, from the hoar frost on my somewhat scanty though growing beard, to the ice-locked Kowak and its border of silver-laden spruces. And the ptarmigans: What beautiful birds! part and parcel incolor and endurance of this frozen world. And the winter is not half over. What revelations when spring knocks at the barred doors! How alert the awakening landscape I can as yet only partially realize.

In the Spruce Woods.

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