Trails and Tramps in Alaska and Newfoundland Part 2

[Ill.u.s.tration: Killing Fish with a Club]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Gulls Feeding on Salmon]

[Ill.u.s.tration: A Good Fisherman]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Dogs Fishing for Salmon]

There was a flock of red-breasted mergansers (_Merganser serrator_) on a pool nearby. I crept quietly to the brink, and, hat off, peeped over.

After the shot was fired it was interesting to see the flock trying to dive; the fish were so thickly ma.s.sed that the ducks could not get below the surface of the water. This disturbance caused a rush of the fish and they madly churned the water in their efforts to get away from an imaginary enemy. In shallow riffles the fish were so crowded that it was almost impossible to wade across the stream without being thrown by tramping upon them or tripped by others trying to get away. Closer observation showed them in pairs, rooting their noses into the sand and gravel to make a hole; in this the female deposited the eggs and the male covered them with a milky substance, both turning sideways at the same time and both flapping their tails in covering the sp.a.w.n.

Frequently I could see two males or two females fighting each other, striking with their tails and biting like dogs, trying to get possession of a hole in the sand in which the sp.a.w.n might be deposited. Looking at the horde all tattered and torn, I could not but admire their pluck and perseverance in ascending the stream over stones and other obstacles, with scarcely enough water to cover half their bodies, in order that the laws of nature might be obeyed and the species propagated. When the tide went out many were caught high and dry on the sh.o.r.e, and became a prey for birds and beasts. Thousands of gulls gathered daily, feeding on the dead fish, and almost invariably picking out the eyes first, these being the choicest morsels, according to their taste. I have frequently come across fish still alive, though robbed of their eyes. Our first method of getting fish was to arm ourselves with clubs, walk into the shallow riffles, select some just fresh from the salt water and hit them with our clubs. We abandoned this method because several were killed before we got one that was fresh. We then tied a halibut hook on the end of a pole and, sitting on a rock, waited until a fresh fish appeared. As we caught sight of him some distance away we would gradually move the hook into position and land him.

It rained for several days and nights, causing the water in the creek to rise very high and run with considerable current. At this time the sh.o.r.e was salmon-colored with eggs uncovered by the swift water. All the fresh streams near camp were so polluted with dead fish that the water could not be used, and we were obliged to go above for some distance to get pure water.

Before leaving Valdez we had taken a little walk out from town, and came across a small stream of pure ice-cold water that had its source in the snow of the mountain. Occasionally could be seen salmon returning to their sp.a.w.ning ground. I have no doubt that before Valdez was built the stream was famous for the annual hordes of fish that returned to sp.a.w.n (and, as is believed by some, to die), but I was told that the number is getting less and less and now only a very few frequent the stream. While watching them our attention was drawn to a dog jumping into the water and others splashing about, dashing first in one direction and then another, trying to catch the fish. How amusing to see the fish dart between the legs of their would-be captors, out of the shallows and into deeper water! Occasionally the dogs would catch them and bring them to sh.o.r.e. Had we had the dogs with us at Gravenna Bay, what sport we might have had!

[Ill.u.s.tration: Indian Hut]

While writing my notes one evening I smelled something burning, and on turning around saw our bed all ablaze, caught by a spark from the wood fire. If the fire had caught in our absence it would have been a very serious matter. Imagine our predicament to have been without food and shelter, many miles from civilization.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Indian Graves]

On one of our side trips we happened upon an Indian and his family, living in a little hut constructed of logs and other materials. He could talk no English and we could not understand him. After exchanging several grunts and shaking hands we started to go, when we noticed his small boy coming towards us, holding out a paper in his hand. Opening it, we found the following written in a legible hand: "To all to whom these presents come: This is to notify all miners and trappers that there are bear traps set in these diggings." My guide was always more or less uneasy for fear of stepping into a steel trap set on a game trail along the stream.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Indian Woman Repairing the Bidarka]

The vegetation along the banks of the creek was almost tropical in its density, and when the fish were sp.a.w.ning, bear frequented the place to catch their prey, which they carried to the bank and devoured. Often we could see the remains of fish left partly consumed, indicating that the bears had been disturbed at their meal. Doubtless they had heard the commotion of the fish trying to get away from us as we ascended the stream.

One day while paddling our little boat along the water's edge, my guide called attention to an object in the distance which I was unable to make out for some time, but which the experienced eye of the hunter had observed a long way off, though he was unable to determine exactly what it was. Finally, as we approached nearer, he exclaimed, "Caught his own dog!" and sure enough, there was the Indian's dog caught in the steel trap set for bear. The poor fellow was whining from pain, as though pleading with us to release him. I wanted the guide to take him out, but he said the dog might bite him and we had better notify the owner, for even if released the dog could never reach home in his present condition. While coming along he told the following story:

"Several years ago there were two white men trapping on a little stream that emptied into the Copper River, and one of them was caught in a steel trap. The bones between the knee and the ankle were crushed where the huge iron jaws came together. After being in the trap for a long time, by almost superhuman efforts he succeeded in extricating his leg.

Fortunately he was not far from his boat, and dragging himself over and under fallen trees he reached the dory, almost exhausted. Taking the oars he pulled several miles to reach his cabin. A day or two afterwards I happened along and found the man suffering great pain, and saw that unless the leg were taken off he would lose his life. We were a hundred miles from a doctor, and before aid could reach him he would have died.

After talking the matter over with his partner, it was agreed that I was to cut the leg off in order to save his life, if possible. All the tools we had were a hunting knife and an old rusty saw which had hung in the cabin for several years. We boiled water to clean the tools as well as possible, inserted the end of the old saw in the fire to take off the rust, retempered the teeth in bear oil, got deer sinews ready to tie the arteries, and with these tools I cut the leg off. During the time I was at work the injured man frequently advised us what to do. He recovered from the operation in due time and is now alive and well." My guide afterwards pointed the man out to me.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Sunrise]

In this location we spent about a week. We had no difficulty in killing all the teal (_Nettium carolinensis_) and Canada geese (_Branta canadensis_) that we cared to eat, and, when the tide was down, in gathering all the clams desired. During the month that we spent in this part of the country it rained continually, night and day, with the exception of three days, which I spent in photographing. The sun would burst through the clouds like a huge search-light, casting its rays upon the tropical luxuriance of the underbrush, reflecting back a sparkling radiance from myriads of tiny rain-drops. We changed our camp occasionally for new grounds, and one evening we had pitched our tent without pinning it down. It was raining, as usual, and after eating a scanty meal we threw our blankets on the ground and retired early. Some time in the night I heard the crackling of the rank gra.s.s. My first impression was that there was a porcupine skulking near, but as we listened my guide said, "There's a bear outside!" We had thrown down on the gra.s.s at the edge of the tent what was left of a side of bacon, and Mr. Bruin was trying to get it from under the canvas. I immediately jumped up, grabbed my "405," and started towards the flap of the tent, but about the time I reached it there came two loud "woofs," accompanied by the sound of crashing bushes, and that was the last we heard of Old Bruin.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Our Permanent Camp]

At the head of one of the fiords in the neighborhood, there was a glacier of considerable size, and on looking over the desolation I half expected to find a glacier bear (_Ursus emmonsi_). Comparatively little is known about the habits of this animal. The only one in captivity is in the public park at Seattle. It is a fine specimen, and as it walks up and down behind the bars its wild nature seems to predominate in every movement. In the adjoining cages are black and grizzly bears, but they seem to be satisfied in captivity, while the glacier bear reminds one of a hyena as it paces from end to end, occasionally throwing its head into the air. The fur is a bluish black beneath, with outer grayish tips.

In the early morning I started alone in the direction of the dead glacier, crossed the glacier stream easily to the opposite side, which looked more inviting of access, working my way up over the lateral moraine, searching among the creva.s.ses, and now and again getting into a "pocket," from which I had to retrace my steps. Towards evening I turned homeward. When I reached the stream, I thought I had located the ford where I had previously crossed, but on making the attempt, I found the water too deep and swift. Many times I tried to cross at different points, thinking each time I had found the ford. I would wade out into the ice-cold stream until I felt the swift current almost lifting me off my feet, and then would make a hasty return. It was beginning to get dark and I was anxious to get home, so I lifted a large stone in my arm to give me additional weight and started toward a little eddy, cautiously feeling my way. When I reached the eddy I felt my feet sinking in the sand. My first thought was of a quick-sand, and I shall never forget the sensation as I hurriedly dropped the stone and made a mad rush for sh.o.r.e. However, I finally succeeded in reaching the other side safely. Before arriving at camp I heard the report of a gun from the direction of home, for the guide had grown uneasy and thought I was lost.

A few more days' experience in the rain, among the glaciers, then we broke camp at high tide and drifted with the ebb flow out along the sh.o.r.e until we reached the outermost projection of rocks, and there awaited the return of the tug which would take us back to Valdez.

CHAPTER II

OBSERVATIONS ON KODIAK ISLAND

[Ill.u.s.tration: An Island near Valdez]

In the following spring, about the middle of May, we purchased an outfit at Valdez for a trip westward along the Alaskan peninsula. After being bottled up two days in the port of Valdez, we were anxious to get started. The steamer approached the narrow entrance to the harbor, with Fort Liscom, a Government post, on the left, and on the right glaciers and wooded foothills. As we neared the neck it looked as though the stopper was in the bottle and our exit barred by an island; but an abrupt curve at the entrance took us into Prince William Sound, and in due time along Knight's Island and Latouche Island, where copper is found in paying quant.i.ties. And here is the most beautiful glacier of Alaska, the Columbia, with its palisades at times advancing into the forest and at times receding. A large flock of phalaropes (_Phalaropus lobatus_) darting back and forth over the surface of the water, formed geometric figures in the most graceful manner; occasionally the gray back most conspicuous and then the silvery underside shining, each little plume helping to make one perfect reflection in the water as they move in regular form, without any disarranging of the original positions, until they alight gracefully on the water. The greater scaup-duck (_Aythya marila nearctica_), with its white spots so noticeable as it takes its occasional upward flight from the water, is always interesting. However, it prefers diving out of sight for a place of safety as the steamer approaches, coming to the surface from time to time until the boat is quite near, when, after a last long dive, it is off on the wing as fast as possible out of harm's way.

In the distance to the westward as we entered Resurrection Bay, loomed up the majestic Cathedral Rock, towering skyward a thousand feet, with the Government survey cross on the top, and the roaring breakers washing its foot, filling the coast line with make-believe soap-suds. Near the water's edge the rocks were white with gulls mating for the nesting-time.

With the consent of the captain a shot was fired in that direction, which struck the water some distance from the rock, and myriads of gulls took to wing with their wild cry of alarm. Some person shouted, "There's a whale!" and all were anxiously waiting for his reappearance, but his huge tail had disappeared to us for the last time. About this time a gull soared gracefully over the steamer and a fellow-pa.s.senger, rifle in hand, pointed the muzzle at the bird, and pulled the trigger, bringing down a feather from its wing. At the same time the first officer shouted, "Here, here! Don't shoot that gull! You'll bring us bad luck."

There is a well founded superst.i.tion among the "old sea-dogs" that to kill a gull will bring bad luck.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Sea Lion Rocks]

About dusk, as we steamed westward, our attention was called to Sea Lion Rocks, and the genial Captain Jansen steered the ship within five hundred yards of the island in order that we might see the lions. The rocks were covered with the large animals, and they made such an uproar as we pa.s.sed that they could be heard a long distance off above the noise of the breakers.

Along the coast of Kenai Peninsula the mountains are covered with spruce, hemlock, and birch, until we enter Resurrection Bay, at the head of which Seward is built. The first time I visited Seward it was practically abandoned. It was the terminus of a new railroad in process of construction across the peninsula, having as its objective point the placer mines of the Susitna Valley. Like a great many other projects of this kind, there was not sufficient money subscribed to finish the undertaking, and the company was forced into the hands of a receiver.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Seward]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Seldovia]

The next stop on our way west was Seldovia. The old Russian church where we attended services was built on a little knoll that overlooked the harbor, and from it we could see the native burial ground with its dilapidated grave marks. When we entered the church the natives did not seem to be much interested in us. While the sermon is being delivered the women occupy one side of the house and the men the other. During the services they paid close attention to what was going on. There were no seats in the church and all the parties stood during the entire time of worship. When the incense was being burned, filling the room with sweet fragrance, the expression on the features of the worshipers manifested a devout frame of mind and spirit not often in evidence.

In the harbor were hundreds of gulls, floating leisurely on the surface of the water or standing on the logs that drifted with the tide.

Among the pa.s.sengers on the steamer was a delicate little lady with her three-year-old child, who was on the way to meet her husband at Iliamnia, some sixty miles across the bay. I remember how indignant the pa.s.sengers were when they learned there was no person present to meet her when she arrived, and no prospect of her getting across Cook's Inlet for more than a week. A purse was raised among the pa.s.sengers, all contributing, and with the aid of the captain of the revenue cutter, who in ordinary cases would take no pa.s.sengers, the little lady was started on her trip across the Inlet the following morning, happy in the expectation of meeting her husband.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Turbulent Sh.e.l.licoff]

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Ravens]

While crossing the entrance to Sh.e.l.licoff Straits we encountered a very rough sea and the steamer tossed and pitched among the billows. That evening, as we steamed towards Kodiak Island, the clouds were fringed with pink and purple and through a rift the sun illuminated sky and water with all the splendor and brilliance of those northwestern sunsets. Pa.s.sing to the left of Afognak Island, we entered the harbor at Kodiak. The village, with its Greek church similar in structure to the old chapel at Sitka, is built on a plateau and surrounded with sloping, verdure-clad hills. The population consists of about four hundred, a few of them whites, the rest Aliutes and Creoles. The ravens (_Corvus corax princ.i.p.alis_) were very plentiful, and their croaking could be heard in all directions. One old fellow continually perched on the top of a shanty used as the district jail. Two of the prisoners were permitted to wander around, cut firewood for the warden, plant seed and the like.

Once when the planter was putting in seed at one end of the row and the raven picking it out at the other, we heard the former call out, "Shoo, shoo, _you'll_ be put in jail for stealing next."

We arrived in Kodiak on the morning of May 26th, and immediately began our preparations for the hunt. On our way up we became acquainted with the United States Marshal, who kindly invited us to stop at his home until we could arrange matters to go farther westward on the island, where we expected to hunt.

My guide was a man who had spent his early life on the plains as a cow-puncher and trapper. One day he told me that he and a friend left their mountain camp to sell their winter's catch. It was getting less and less each year because of the slow but sure disappearance of wild life, as the white hunters and trappers increased and the demand for furs grew. He was in love with a daughter of the plains and had returned in the spring with the results of his winter's work, intending to lay his all at the feet of his lady love. The season had been against him in his search for furs. The heavy snows had kept the fox and lynx from making extensive forages from their dens, and the low temperature before the snow came froze the creeks so solid that the mink, otter, and beaver were forced to remain indoors the greater part of the time. The winter had been long and severe, the catch was poor, and he left his traps late in the spring when the pelts were beginning to look hairless.

Thus he left his occupation in the solitude of the wilds with a heavy heart, for the previous fall when he bade adieu to his fair fiancee, full of hope and expectation, with the promise of a large yield, he was sure of sufficient funds to purchase a meager home. When he reached the frontier town he could not muster up courage enough to see her, but disposed of his stock, sold his outfit and all his belongings, and made a bee-line for California; thence he took the first steamer for the Yukon. About this time a strike was made at Nome and hundreds of gold seekers had gathered. There was a great demand for fresh meat, so he conceived the idea of constructing a raft in the upper waters, loading it with moose meat, and then floating the flat to Nome and getting rich quick. About the time he was ready to start with a full load, Congress pa.s.sed an act making it unlawful to sell or have in possession any wild game. On his way down he was stopped at the Government fort, put under arrest, and his load confiscated. He argued his own case well, for he got off without imprisonment. After spending several years there he returned to Seattle, and sent for his little girl from Montana; they were united for better or worse, and together they left Seattle and landed on the Alaskan Peninsula, where they spent three years hunting and trapping.

I visited their clean, tidy home in Seattle, was very much delighted, and spent many pleasant hours listening to the wife's stories of her experiences. Among other things she said: "My husband shot during the three years over one hundred of the big brown bear for the hides. My part was to a.s.sist him with the skinning and do the general housework.

On one occasion he had shot a big bear and had placed his gun a short distance away while he proceeded to skin the animal. About the time the steel entered the skin the bear jumped up, uttered a hair-raising growl, and as I ran away, Grant grabbed his gun and finished the bear. I tell you that was exciting. For a whole year we did not see a soul at camp, and when we wanted provisions, Grant would make a trip across Akuton Pa.s.s to Unalaska to do the buying. One day he left me in the morning with a large Malamuth dog for my sole companion, saying he would return on the morrow. When the morrow dawned it brought with it one of the worst storms that had swept the coast for years, so bad that even one of the large steamers could not live it out, and was destroyed on the rocks nearby. The storm kept up for four days, and just imagine me alone during those four long, weary days, wondering if Grant had been lost, and what I would do if such were the case.

"The dawning of the fifth day found me looking in the direction of Unalaska, hoping and praying that he might return safely. A little black speck in the blue distance caught my eye. At first I thought it was a bird skimming over the water, but as I looked again and again it seemed to float on the surface. My spirits rose, and the longer I looked the more certain I was that it was the little boat. Oh! what was my joy as the tiny object increased in size as it advanced nearer and nearer until I recognized the little dory and the frantic waving of hat and hands of Grant as he approached closer and closer! The climax came when I recognized his whoop, as he saw me standing on the beach with arms open to receive him, and woman-like, I proceeded to swoon away.

"The very next trip I determined to go with him. We set sail in our little schooner with a strong fair wind, but before long a fierce gale struck us and was carrying us toward sure destruction on the reef, where the angry sea would have made kindling wood of our frail craft. We cast the anchor, but it dragged, dragged, and would not take hold, and all the while we were drifting nearer and nearer the reef. Grant had given up all hope, and said: 'Mollie, dear, it's all up! We're lost!' I encouraged him, saying that there was still hope, when, much to our relief, the anchor took hold and the bow turned to windward on the very verge of destruction. It held fast all night. As the dawn began to appear the wind shifted, and hoisting our little sail we tacked back and forth to Unalaska. We started on our return trip, but luck was against us; we were blown far out to sea, and for four long days and nights we drifted, we knew not where. Almost the entire time Grant had his head up through the hatchway, around his neck a canvas spread over the hatchway, to keep the breakers from filling the boat, and many, many times I cheered him with a cup of strong tea. Grant had given up all hope of reaching land, when gradually the wind shifted, blew from the opposite direction, and took us straight to sh.o.r.e."

On one of their hunting trips to Knight's Island, Grant prospected a little on the side and staked a copper claim which "panned out" very well, but which eventually cost the life of a partner, who was caught in a snow slide the following spring.