Trails and Tramps in Alaska and Newfoundland Part 3

I bade her good-bye as we left Seattle, when she said: "Oh! how I long to return to Alaska! Before I went there I was a very delicate girl and had very poor health; in fact, the opinion of the family physician was that I did not have long to live; but roughing it in the open air seemed to be a tonic and built me right up. Is it any wonder I love Alaska and long for its wild free life?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: Kodiak]

Kodiak is a charming little village. The natives are lazy and spend most of their time in fishing and hunting. We hired a couple of Aliutes, who owned a schooner, to take our equipment to the camping ground. Our course lay around the northeastern end of Kodiak Island, thence westward. After starting, we were becalmed for some time to leeward of the rocky coast. Along came a couple of natives, who towed us out a few hundred feet from behind the island, and presently the sails began to fill. As though it were human, the schooner responded to the gentle breezes and away we went toward the open seas. We had to round a distant point in order to get into another bay. With a fair southeast wind we dropped anchor at six o'clock some thirty miles west of Kodiak. We followed the sh.o.r.e line with its picturesque scenery of snow-clad hills covered with scrubby trees, mostly cottonwood and spruce. Here and there the tundra, like a great meadow fringed with alder, added charm and interest to the surroundings. The waters of Sh.e.l.licoff Straits threw their breakers far up on the beach, and an occasional whale would spout in the distance. We pa.s.sed an island covered with different species of gulls nesting on the rocks; it was just the beginning of the nesting season for aquatic birds.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Gull Island]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Forget-me-nots]

After several days of these interesting sights, the sailboat entered a beautiful little fiord, where we cast anchor for the night. On the following day we landed our equipment, dismissed the Indians with their boat, and pitched our tent in a little sheltered nook among the cottonwoods, where we expected to spend several weeks in hunting and photographing the great Kadiak bear (_Ursus middendorff_). The snow had disappeared for about a third of the way up the mountain, visible beyond foothills densely overgrown with alder, elder, and other bushes. The rocky sh.o.r.e, treeless, save for a stunted cottonwood here and there, was covered with many varieties of beautiful spring flowers. A cl.u.s.ter of fragrant forget-me-nots among the mosses, another of crowfoot, with the long dry gra.s.s of the previous year for a background, and a bunch of pinks with a similar setting added life and color to the rugged surroundings.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Crow's Nest and Young]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Nests of Eagle and Magpie]

While climbing for a specially beautiful bunch of forget-me-nots I came across a crow's nest (_Corvus america.n.u.s_) under a ledge of rocks. In the nest were several young crows waiting for the mother bird to return to appease their hunger. The bald eagles (_Haliaetus leucocephalus_) were very plentiful and there were several nests built in the vicinity. Never having had any experience with eagles rearing their young, I suggested to my guide that I would climb one of the trees to the nest and see what effect it would have upon the birds. He insisted that it was dangerous to climb the tree, but could not persuade me to forego the experience. At my request he stood guard near the foot of the cottonwood, with instructions to shoot the birds if they came too close.

Taking off my shoes, coat, and hat, I started to climb the tree as the old birds were soaring quite a distance above. As I climbed higher and higher the birds came nearer and nearer, and when I was about half way up the guide tried to persuade me to come down, for the birds were getting dangerously close. When I had covered about two-thirds of the climb, one of the birds came so near that I could feel the wind from his wing, when "crack" went the gun and down went the bird. I remonstrated with him for shooting the bird, for it was not close enough to do any harm. He again insisted that I come down, saying that the other bird would strike me and knock me off the tree, but I still persisted in going higher, with the male coming nearer and nearer. On one of its circlings it struck me lightly on the head with the tip of its wing. The guide said, "Is that close enough?" and threw his gun up as though to shoot the bird, but I insisted that he should wait a little. All the time my eyes were fixed on the eagle. As he made the next swoop, if I had not dodged behind a limb he would surely have knocked me off with his wing. Again the gun cracked, the bird pitched head-on and, meteor-like, dropped to the ground with a thud.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Eagle Watching for Prey]

Climbing up to the nest, I found it was built of sticks. Some on the margin of the nest were as large as one's wrist, those nearer the center were smaller, while the nest proper was lined with gra.s.s. The nest over all had a diameter of about six feet. In it were three little eaglets, possibly two days old, and around the nest were the remains of several species of birds, such as ducks, ptarmigan, and kingfishers, also pieces of fish, to feed the young. When I saw the destruction of life I felt, in common with the guide, that eagles should not receive too much consideration at the hands of the Nimrod. He was anxious to shoot every eagle in sight, as he said many a nice piece of fur caught in his traps had been destroyed by them. Knowing that both the parent birds were dead, I thought it a pity to leave the young to die of starvation.

Pulling my bandanna handkerchief out of my pocket, I carefully stowed away the little birds in the pack, swung it over my arm, and slid down to the ground.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Eagle's Nest and Young]

On the lower branches of the same tree a pair of magpies (_Pica pica hudsonica_) had built their nest in the usual way, covered over to the depth of at least a foot with limbs and sticks, its small entrance at the side, evidently in pursuance of the natural instinct of the birds for the protection of their nest and young. It occurred to me as strange that both of these birds, carnivorous and well known as destroyers of eggs and nests, seemed to live happily together, though the eagle, if it so desired, could have destroyed the nest of the magpie with one grip of its powerful talons.

We took the young eagles to camp, fed them for several days, and the amount they could devour of fresh codfish, cut up in large chunks, was surprising. They would fill their craws so full that they looked like pouter pigeons.

[Ill.u.s.tration: First Sight of Day]

For several days we observed with the field-gla.s.s that a bald eagle had built its nest away up among the crags at the end of a projection on one of the peaks. We noticed that the old bird spent a great deal of time on the nest, and we knew she was hatching. After discussing the matter, we decided to take the young eagles and put them in the nest to be reared by the foster-mother. About dawn we started for the eyrie on the cliffs, with our kodak, gun, and the young eaglets. After climbing three or four hours we reached a point above the rocks, and then by advancing cautiously, sliding and crawling, we safely reached the nest. I had given the guide positive instructions that he was under no circ.u.mstances to kill the old birds, but scare them away by shooting into the air occasionally. He took a position a little above where he could command a good view of the birds and keep guard over me while I was photographing the nest. There were two pale buff eggs (size 2.75 2.10) in the nest, and while I was arranging my camera an occasional report from the gun in the hands of the guide kept the eagles at a respectful distance. While setting up the kodak I heard the "peep, peep" of the little eaglets in the eggs trying to get the first sight of day, and about the time everything was ready to take the picture the egg cracked, with the result that I obtained a picture of the little bird just coming out. We left our two little eagles with the others, worked our way down the mountain-side, and since then I have often wondered if the foster-mother reared the young.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Sea Parrot Incubating]

We decided to change our camping-ground into the adjoining fiord. Taking the twenty-foot tide at flood, as we thought, we were a little slow in starting, had some difficulty getting out, and before we reached deep water were caught and left high and dry on a shoal, where we were obliged to remain for several hours, waiting for the return of the tide.

During the interim we waded to sh.o.r.e and scoured the neighboring hills in search of some evidence of Bruin. We found none, and by the time we came back to the water's edge, the tide had set in so far that we were forced to wade for a quarter of a mile to our boat. The latter was heavily loaded, but as the current caught it, it moved gently at first, then at last cleared the sandbar. With a strong wind blowing, we were carried out to the promontory just about the time the tide was turning and the flood tide carried us up to the head of the adjoining bay. The breakers were running high on the point and it was with the greatest difficulty that we were able to get around with our dory. Frequently the wind blew the spray all over us, and by the time we reached the return tide on the other side I was greatly exhausted and gave a sigh of relief, for conditions were such that we were afraid our little dory could not stand much more of the kind of sea that was running. Once around on the other side the wind changed, and with the inflow of the tide and our little leg-of-mutton sail, we were carried with race-horse speed to the head of the bay. We steered for a small island, and as we approached, many gulls, sea-parrots, and ducks were flying around the bay. We landed the dory on the beach, and climbed the rocks while the birds hovered about us by the thousands, uttering their shrill cries of alarm as we gathered a few fresh eggs for breakfast on the morrow.

Sea-parrots (_Fratercula arctica_) were quite numerous, and many left their holes in the rocks, startled no doubt by the warning given by the gulls. Peeping down into one of the crevices I discovered a sea-parrot's nest with the female sitting on it. In order to get in to the nest it was necessary to pa.s.s horizontally between the rocks and drop vertically about five feet into a small, cavern-like s.p.a.ce. Being anxious to photograph the nest, I discarded a part of my clothing, entered the hole feet first, with the guide holding on to me until my feet reached solid ground. Having a pair of buckskin gloves on my hands I caught the parrot, and at the same time the parrot caught me with its powerful beak, and if it had not been for the gloves I would have received an ugly bite. I handed the bird and her one dull-white-and-lilac-marked egg to the guide, who placed the bird in my kodak box until he helped me out. I had considerable difficulty in getting out at the hole by which I had entered, for to do so it was necessary for my body as it emerged to be at right angles with the wall rock. When I did succeed in getting out, with the aid of my guide pulling and tugging, I was minus considerable clothing.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Sea Parrot's Nest and Egg]

A little farther down the rocks we came to a white tern's nest (_Gygis alba kittlitzi_), viz, an egg laid upon the bare rock without a vestige of any structure. In color it was bluish white, with large liver-colored spots. It is said of these birds that are very reckless in laying their eggs, at times selecting a bare limb, and how they succeed in incubating under certain conditions is remarkable.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Characteristic Nest of _Gygis_]

[Ill.u.s.tration: Nest and Eggs of Herring Gull]

We pa.s.sed about two weeks in this location in the most ideal weather, without pitching tent, sleeping on the ground rolled in our blankets, our canopy the heavens glittering with myriads of stars overhead. The days were long and we spent most of our time from two o'clock in the morning until eleven at night where the bear love to roam. They were just coming out of hibernation and had not yet started to feed. During my brief experience I observed from the tracks in the snow that the bear do not eat anything for the first two or three days, then gradually descend toward the snow-line and begin to nip the new gra.s.s. While the salmon run their princ.i.p.al diet is fish. With the gla.s.ses we could see several trails of Old Ephraim where he came over the very highest peaks of the snow-capped range, quartering down and again returning to the higher alt.i.tudes, where he evidently spent his time at this season of the year. On one occasion we pitched camp about dusk, ten o'clock, and having gathered a good supply of last year's ferns for bedding, rolled ourselves up in our blankets and forgot we were tired until five o'clock the next morning.

A good hot breakfast limbered up our stiff joints considerably, and in about an hour we were starting for the trails in the snow of the summit.

Up we went, steadily and slowly, at an angle of forty-five degrees until we reached the snow-line, when we struck the bear trail where he first had descended the mountain. A part of the time he had come down on his tail, judging from the slides we found occasionally. He had circled around quite a distance and ascended again without even nipping a blade of gra.s.s, although in the snow-slides the gra.s.s was beginning to grow.

Taking the trail we started after him up the mountain, but a more difficult task one could not well imagine. Part of the time the wet snow was up to our waists and all the time over boot-tops. Up and up we went on the trail until we reached the drift snow of the side summit, where we were obliged to crawl on hands and knees in order to get over. Then our task was easy for some time and we found many old trails on the top. We were satisfied that the bears were not yet feeding.

Returning along the mountains we saw quite a few small snow-slides. On one occasion while crossing between two ridges my companion startled me by shouting, "Run, for Heaven's sake!" At the same time he made a dash towards the ridge. My first thought was, "A bear!" But almost instantly I realized our danger, as a snow-slide that had started above from some unknown cause, came thundering down, almost upon us. (It is said that under certain conditions the report of a gun may start a slide.) As it descended, gathering speed and bulk and as the loose snow slid over the hard crust, it sounded like a strong wind roaring through the trees. In speaking about his long experience in Alaska, my guide informed me that he was more afraid of a snow-slide than of all the grizzlies in the country. He said that in the spring of '98, in what was known as the Sheep Creek slide on the Chillcoot Pa.s.s, he helped to dig out of the snow fifty-two dead bodies of gold-seekers who were caught on the trail in a big snow-slide, among them being one woman.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Our Camp among the Cottonwoods]

The next morning, just as soon as the regular routine of getting breakfast was over, we again started up the mountains in search of the quarry. The hunting was the hardest I have ever experienced, the mountains being a series of peaks and hollows, at the base covered with a dense growth of alder and underbrush, the rocks and crevices hidden beneath moss, dry ferns, and leaves. As we ascended we found less moss and alder and more long gra.s.s. The snow had packed the latter flat on the earth and it was as slippery as ice. At each step we were sure to slide if the greatest effort and care were not taken. When we reached the snowy top, as far as the eye could see, peak after peak pushed its head above the clouds, looking like huge sentries, standing guard over an untrodden domain. We scrutinized every suspicious-looking object with the field-gla.s.ses in the hope of descrying a bear. Working our way down over the snow, occasionally sliding "hunker" fashion or dropping into a hole between the rocks, greeting with a quiet "d.a.m.n" an alder switch in the eye or a devil's club jagger in the hand, we finally reached the valley.

Along the sh.o.r.e of the stream I observed the beaten paths that the bear had worn to a depth of twenty inches at places, evidently where they had been travelling up and down the stream fishing for many years. Each morning as soon as we opened our eyes we reached for the field-gla.s.ses and carefully scanned the mountain-sides for fresh signs. One morning the guide, after looking long and carefully, called my attention to three bears circling up the mountain. We watched them climb higher and higher until they finally disappeared over the backbone of the ridge just about the time we were ready to follow. The foothills were covered at least a third of the way with dense alder and other tangled underbrush that made it very difficult to get through. By the time we reached the snow-line we were tired out and stopped a short time for a rest. Occasionally a ptarmigan would start up, uttering its plaintive, croaking notes as it took to wing. Some were all white in their winter coats, others were partly in their brown summer plumage. Again we plowed our way up through the soft snow, sinking deeper and deeper as we ascended the mountain, a hot sun adding to our discomfort. The guide was in advance and I followed, stepping in his tracks. Even with our snow gla.s.ses it was almost impossible to see. The glitter of the snow affected the eyes, though the eyelids, heavy and red, were almost closed and the tears trickled down our cheeks. Half the time I could not see at all. Sometimes the guide would go into the snow up to his knees and again to his waist into a crevice, which could then be avoided by his follower. Plodding along we reached almost the top of the snowy peak, now enveloped in a canopy of fog, and there we were in the midst of a snowstorm that was so dense we could scarcely see, and all that I could distinguish was a black object about three feet in advance. Finally the guide called out that it was foolishness for us to track the bear under present conditions, and suggested that we circle around the peak and catch their trail on the other side. In a short time we were out of the snowstorm and, tramping around the cone of the mountain, struck the trail, which went straight down the other side toward the valley.

Occasionally one of the bear would take a notion to sit down and slide many yards. This habit rubs the hair off rapidly, and if they are not killed shortly after they leave winter quarters the hide is practically ruined. When we got down below the snow-line the bear took to the alder, where we found it was much more difficult to follow the trail. About noon we took off our shoes, wrung out our socks, now soaking wet with snow water, and hung them up to dry while we slept for about three hours on the bare ground. Then we took the trail again across the opposite mountain, but finally had to give up, for we were unable to overtake the game.

[Ill.u.s.tration: An Extinct Crater where the Bear Hibernate]

Two days afterwards we started up the valley, when the guide happened to look back and pointed out a large bear ascending the mountain about half a mile behind us. Through the field-gla.s.ses we watched him climbing; frequently he would look back,--evidently he had gotten a whiff of us as we pa.s.sed him in the valley below. Occasionally he would disappear behind a little knoll and again appear, at the same time gradually ascending the mountain. Finally he went out of sight behind a knoll and we waited for about twenty minutes to see if he would show himself again before we started after him. We concluded that he had lain down on the knoll, and after fixing the location as best we could, we started to climb the mountain, first through the thick alder until we reached the snow-line, then plowing our way through the snow, using the guns for alpenstocks, as the climbing was very difficult. When we reached the knoll where the bear was concealed we advanced cautiously, puffing like "wind-jammers"--full of excitement at the thought of the quarry being so near.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Where He Fell]

The guide was just pointing out to me the back track in the snow beyond, when old Bruin raised up on his hind quarters, opened his mouth, and let out two of the most awful growls one could imagine. At the same time the guide exclaimed, "Get to him, there he is!"--only his language was a little more forcible. With that the bear dropped on all fours, head advanced as though he was going to charge. Before I had time to take a shot he wheeled, disappeared for a second in a little depression beyond, reappeared on the other side at a distance of about forty yards, going down the mountain at a rapid gait. I fired my first shot from a "405,"

but there was no indication that I had touched the mark. I pumped in another sh.e.l.l and fired again, with no better results; again I threw the gun to my shoulder, pulled the trigger, but there was no explosion. I must have been a little excited, for I did not push the lever far enough, consequently it did not throw the sh.e.l.l into the chamber. My guide by this time was very much excited and insisted upon taking a shot, while I demanded one more chance. All this time the bear was going down the mountain-side at a rapid pace. By the time he was a hundred yards away I fired the last shot and he made one headlong plunge into the snow.

Much to my surprise, although I had frequently heard of the remarkable vitality of the grizzly, we found upon examination that the first shot had pa.s.sed through the heart and through the entire body, as indicated by the hole on the other side. The second time I fired I overshot and the last charge quartered through the lungs and came out at the left shoulder. Thus he had run at least fifty yards after receiving his death wound, and I have no doubt would have run a long way if it had not been for the last shot that brought him down. We left the bear where he fell in order to get a photograph, and it was necessary to make a special trip back with the kodak, which we did the following day.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Stretched Bear Skins]

Working our way down the mountain trail to the valley we ate our lunch, and took a nap. On awakening we advanced toward the head of a beautiful little lake artistically located in a basin of half snow-clad hills. The silence, save for the crackling cry of the ptarmigan (_Lagopus lagopus_) as they left their snowy bed in great alarm, was awe-inspiring. A little beyond the head of the lake we were confronted with a mountain stream which to me looked impa.s.sable owing to the swiftness of the current. In a few seconds the guide stepped into the ice-cold water, at the same time commanding me to get on his back, and in this way he ferried me across with the water almost carrying him off his feet. Later in the afternoon our progress was again checked by a torrent, the sight of which caused me to say, "It's impossible for us to cross this stream, we'll have to go back the way we came." My companion followed the stream up and down a short way until finally he came to a cottonwood tree about two feet in diameter. Taking his coat off and reaching for the small axe in his belt, in a short time he felled the tree right across the creek, and by this footbridge we pa.s.sed over without any difficulty. About ten o'clock in the evening, as we worked our way down the precipitous chasm, we came upon an obstacle that we could not overcome. The gorge was perhaps ten feet wide and we were working our way along on the left of the stream. As we rounded a curve we found that just ahead the course of the torrent was deflected by a boulder on the right, so that it rushed to the left and point blank against a projecting rock directly in our path, effectually cutting off our progress. It was quite an undertaking to get out of the pocket we were in, and it required the alternate a.s.sistance of each to accomplish the undertaking. With occasionally a boost and then a pull, and so on, we finally climbed pretty well up to the top, where we could start anew down to the sh.o.r.e a little beyond the canyon. By this time the shadows cast by the midnight sun were lengthening fast. We began to realize our position, tired and hungry, without food, waiting around the camp fire for six hours for the ebb tide that we might get over to our boat. The guide could not content himself very long and started to work his way around a rock projection. In the undertaking he fell into the water, and instead of trying to get out, made a bold dash across the stream and pulled himself up on the rocks on the opposite side like a half-drowned rat. In a short time he returned with the boat and ferried your humble servant across. By this time it was getting quite cold and he was threatened with chills, so to keep up the circulation he applied the oars furiously to reach our tent, which fortunately was not far away.

Hurriedly changing his clothing and wrapping himself up in blankets, he brought on the reaction about the time I had a pot of strong hot tea ready to administer.

On our wanderings around the island we frequently came upon an abandoned winter home of the natives. They fish and trap princ.i.p.ally, for a livelihood. Early in the fall they take their families into some remote nook, build a _barabara_ out of logs, thatch the entire outside surface with native red-top hay to keep out the cold, and pile large logs all over the hay to keep it from blowing away. They dry salmon, cod, and flounders for their winter supply. When the fur becomes prime they set their traps for fox, ermine, and land otter, and in this way eke out a miserable existence. It is said of them that in their early days they were honest to a fault, theft being punished by death, but on a.s.sociating with the whites they acquired all the faults of the latter with none of the good.

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

[Ill.u.s.tration: Kodiak Island Pinks]

The dawn of another day brought a hazy sky and the indications foretold wet weather. True to our expectations it rained the greater portion of the day. In the afternoon it cleared up somewhat and towards evening the sun came out bright. We then visited Gull Island to get a few fresh eggs for breakfast. The Arctic tern (_Sterna paradisaea_) had a large community on the rocky island. When we approached they hovered over us in great numbers. The kittiwakes (_Rissa tridactyla_) also had a colony.

In many nests on the island, the eggs were blotched and streaked in various shades. They were about the size of an ordinary hen egg, were palatable, and we used quite a number to make pancakes. After photographing several nests with eggs and a few wild flowers that grew very abundantly on the rocks near the water's edge, we returned to camp, had supper, consisting of eggs, bear steak, etc., after which we retired for the night about ten o'clock, it being still almost daylight, for during June the days are twenty-two hours long.

We again desired to change our camp into the adjoining bay, so we pulled stakes and started for a fifteen-mile trip. The tide was in our favor, but with a head wind we pulled our little dory down to the turning point, where tide and wind helped us on our way.

When we were about half-way up we came upon a camp of Italian fishermen who had just arrived from "Frisco" to fish for salmon during the season's run. We turned our boat towards sh.o.r.e and landed to meet our neighbors. They were a villainous-looking lot, about two dozen in all, and could speak no English, except the foreman, and we could understand him only with difficulty. We succeeded in letting him know we were anxious to have a few fish for supper, and soon several of the men were making a haul with the seine for our special benefit, so we had all the fish we wanted. After exchanging compliments, our little sail was hoisted, and as the boat sped over the water we waved a good-bye to the "bunch," although we understood they wanted us to spend the night with them. Before we had gone very far the wind died down to a gentle breeze, and much to our disappointment we had to take down our sail, for it flapped around like a wounded bird, here, there, and everywhere, without wind enough to make it taut. We took the oars about seven o'clock and before long the water became so calm that the snow-capped mountains reflected their peaks on the waters of the bay, seeming to use the smooth surface for a mirror, as they stood majestic in their garments of white. We rode along in silence, hour after hour, past the huge mountains of granite, slate, and sandstone, with here and there a stringer of quartz. I could not but wonder what a force must have been at work to have caused such an upheaval. Beautiful cl.u.s.ters of pink, yellow, and purple flowers were clinging to the perpendicular face of the rocks, and relieved much of the severity of outline. As we advanced toward the head of the bay, the eagles, in their solitude perching here and there on the topmost pinnacles, eyed us with suspicion. Now and again one would leave the cliff, soar round and round overhead until we pa.s.sed out of sight, doubtless wondering what strange creatures these were. We arrived at the head of the bay about midnight in this land of twilight, and soon had a good wood fire alongside a big cottonwood tree, where with "spuds" and flounders, hard tack and a tin of hot "Old English Breakfast," we were quite contented. After a corncob pipe and a short story or two, we threw our blankets on the beach and were quickly in the Land of Nod.