Trails and Tramps in Alaska and Newfoundland Part 5

In a short time stakes were pulled, duffel packed, lines adjusted, and we were on our way. There was a little commotion at the head of the line when Simeon, one of the Indians, spied a large porcupine plodding his way deeper into the forest. Letting go of the rope he made a rush for the "porky," caught it by the tail, held on till he got a club nearby, and proceeded to pound it over the head. The natives are very fond of "porky," and when we pitched camp in the evening Simeon was very busy singeing the hair over the fire before boiling.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Porky"]

On our way up the river we were agreeably surprised to see a stranger walk into camp. Tall, erect, with clean-cut features, he looked the very picture of health. He wore a broad-brimmed hat with the garb of a hunter. Lunch was about ready, and on invitation he dined with us. In conversation we soon learned that he was a college man, a graduate of one of the leading colleges in the East, and had come from our own eastern city some fourteen years before. He told us that for several years he had corresponded with relatives and friends, but finally quit writing because he had not yet made his stake. However, he now had many encouraging prospects, and before long expected to make good and return east. It was surprising to us how an educated man could spend fourteen of the best years of his life in his little tent, with mosquitoes and "no-see-ims" as his only companions, dreaming, dreaming of the find that never came, and with his pan, pick, and shovel digging every here and there, with color, color everywhere, but not in paying quant.i.ties. On our way down we found him as usual, dreaming of the prospects he had staked, and when we left him a sack of flour and a few other necessaries of life he was very grateful, showing that a warm heart beat beneath the rough exterior. We bid him good-bye, and a large tear coursed down his cheek as he said: "I wish I were going with you, boys; but not yet; soon, I hope." Is it any wonder that the steamers on their return trips carry so many insane men to the States? The entire river has been prospected and staked; the blazed trees and indelible pencil marks are about the only method of indicating that a claim has been staked. About half-way up the river we came to the deserted tent of the fellows who had partic.i.p.ated in the shooting at Kenai.

In order to have a pleasant time on a trip of this sort it is very essential to have companions accustomed to "roughing it." Every man in the party must sacrifice individual comfort for the benefit of the camp as a whole. I have in mind a trip taken to Alaska with another party where one individual was so selfish that every action was for his own comfort and enjoyment. For instance, he was always first to eat and managed to get a double portion of everything, cooked and uncooked. If there was one duck, one grouse, or one trout, he managed to cook the one and gorge himself and eat all to his own satisfaction. In the morning he was always first up and ready for breakfast, taking care of his individual interests and paying no attention to others. In fact, he would even permit the destruction of goods not his own without showing the least interest. In the same party was another character in many ways the opposite, always last to the table and never looking out for his own things; going around growling about this, that, and the other thing,--never in time for breakfast, lunch, or supper. There is no better opportunity to find out the good qualities of a companion than to go camping with him in the wilds. A selfish disposition soon becomes unbearable, and many a good outing has been spoiled by having such a fellow in the party. Few men are so const.i.tuted that they can stand "roughing it" very long under trying circ.u.mstances without showing the "yellow streak."

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Tonsorial Artist at Work]

After seven days' hard work we reached Lake Skilak. The sun was just setting, casting a mellow crimson reflection over the placid waters. The beautiful lake was hemmed in on all sides by verdured slopes and snow-capped peaks, the dark green of the spruce intermingling with patches of cottonwood clothed in autumnal colors, "the sear, the yellow leaf" predominating. On the surface of the water, idling away the time, were little flocks of ducks, and in the air were black cormorants heavy in their flight. This serene panorama filled the nature-lovers in the party with joy and delight, and they felt themselves well repaid for all the hardship of the week. The Indians wanted to make camp at once, and showed their displeasure when they learned that we desired to take advantage of a strong fair wind and hoist our sail regardless of their wishes. We made elegant time to an island, on which we camped for the night. The next day we reached the head of the lake, where we expected to spend several weeks.

The party had decided to make a try after white sheep on the mountain beyond the divide. By this time Cheechalker had had enough of tramping and quietly informed us that we might count him out; he was perfectly satisfied, he said, to remain with the cook at the permanent camp. This was located at the mouth of a little stream which entered the lake after a precipitous course from the glacier at the summit, down the mountain canyon, through the narrow gulch of the upper foothills to the wooded valley, chasing and tumbling under and over moss-grown and decayed trees, fallen giants of other years. The under foliage had been destroyed by a fire which was still smoldering here and there among the moss, and the sun, entering the opening between the trees, shimmered and fluttered on the spray-moistened bowlders like fantastic rays of Aladdin's lamp. Here we pitched our tent among the stately birches, intending to make this our headquarters for some time.

Taking a stroll a little way up the beach we were agreeably surprised to find we had neighbors, and were interested to know who they were and what they were doing. One suggested prospectors, another hunters; in the meantime, while we were looking at their outfit for a suggestion, a collection of stones in the niche of a tree, the skull of a rodent, an insect or two, answered the question beyond the shadow of a doubt,--a naturalist in pursuit of data that the world might be benefited by his researches. The following day his packer came into camp with a beautiful specimen of Dall's sheep (_Ovis dalli nelson_). We then learned that it was Mr. Bell, from the University of Minneapolis.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Ready for the Start]

We left camp for the top of the mountain, every man with his pack. The tramp along the trail was interesting, leading as it did through spruce, birch, and cottonwood until we reached the end, where we were obliged to push through low alder and "devil's clubs." The latter average about one inch in thickness, and in this locality grow as high as a man's head.

They are usually straight and branchless, of a yellowish-green color, and are thickly covered with slender sharp spines that readily penetrate the clothing and cause great discomfort to one who undertakes to pa.s.s through a thicket.

The ascent was very steep from this point until we reached the alt.i.tude of "little sticks." One of the Nimrods was in advance a short distance, and so anxious was he to reach the sheep country that he went off the trail and had to be recalled. But his aggressiveness was short-lived, and long before midday he was shouting at the top of his voice from the rear end of the string of packs, "Wait! Wait! You're going too d---- fast!" In a short time we ran into a bees' nest, and you should have seen the party scatter to get out of raiding distance of the nest, every man for himself, packs bouncing, hats waving, all shouting until we reached a safe distance.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Approaching the Low Pa.s.s]

As we ascended the mountain the mosquitoes grew scarcer and scarcer.

About the "land of little sticks" we stopped for a light lunch. Looking in the direction indicated by the guide we saw a large moose feeding in a little swale. Doc could not see him, try as he would. The Indian endeavored to a.s.sist him by locating the animal with reference to a good-sized rock, but his untrained eye, even with the aid of field-gla.s.ses, could not make out the outline and we had to give up in despair, although he was very keen to see it. Blueberries were quite plentiful all around us and after we ate our lunch we filled up with them as a dessert. We came to a little pond of crystal water at the foot of a small glacier, and as soon as we reached the margin some twenty-five or thirty ptarmigan took flight in all directions. They were still in their moulting plumage. By this time the largest man in the party was unable to keep the pace, and lagging behind kept the entire party back. In starting up the canyon the ambitious member turned up the right side, but erelong came to a place that was impa.s.sable and began to shout, "I can't go any farther along here." One of the others answered, "Slide, slide!" and the mighty Nimrod took the suggestion and slid down the shale to the bottom and then began the ascent from another point on the opposite side, where he found traveling much easier. This is the common experience of the over-zealous tenderfoot.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Home of the White Sheep]

There was a low pa.s.s over the mountain and we had to wind our way up, down, and around in order to make it, for it was only accessible by way of an almost perpendicular rock. The leaders reached the top and were required to wait for the rear-guard, but the tail end, before he could get up, had to have the a.s.sistance of a rope tied around his body. What with pulling and tugging by the guides on the upper end of the rope, the big fellow was gently and carefully landed in safety. When he reached us he was puffing and blowing like a wind-broken horse and insisted we must camp right there, for he could go no farther. And although we had intended to reach the valley some five miles beyond, where we could get wood and water, we were forced, out of sympathy for a big-hearted, congenial companion, to camp just where we were, he being completely tired out from his trying experience.

After a restless night, with visions of sheep and photographs galore, we were up and ready to start about the time the ptarmigan were clucking their announcement of the rosy dawn. The country was cut into gently-sloping valleys clothed with verdure, between long ridges of mountains partly covered with snow. Through the gla.s.ses a dozen or more white specks on the mountain-side could be distinguished as sheep moving slowly as they grazed. We were too far away to tell whether there were any big rams in the flock.

Considering the topographical conditions, the wind and the method of approach, we mapped out our _modus operandi_ and started up the ridge of the mountain on the right. It was a long, hard pull and by the time we reached the summit all were wearied, especially my companion, who kept shouting a request not to go so fast. Several hours after we spied the sheep we were crawling stealthily over the backbone of the ridge where we expected to find the flock, but were sadly disappointed. The photographer threw his kodak back into the case with a quiet "d----"; the other pushed his "safety" on, threw his gun over his shoulder, and turned back with a shaking of the head that was more expressive than language. After examining carefully every likely place, all that we could find of the flock was one lonely little lamb looking at us as though in disgust. Presently it went away down into the valley and we watched it as it ascended the opposite side and disappeared as a little speck over the divide.

When we left camp in the morning the tenderfoot was still in bed and on our return we were surprised to see how happy he was. Pointing to the carca.s.s of a little lamb, and beating his breast with his good right hand, he said: "I've got my sheep. No more tramping those d---- mountains for me. I'm going back to camp." We were very much disgusted to think he would travel six thousand miles and spend so much money to hunt one half-day and then turn "quitter." We used every argument in our power and as tactfully as possible tried to persuade him not to turn back, but of no avail. Turning to us he retorted: "You old Sourdoughs, I wouldn't follow you over those mountains for ten thousand dollars." So with a packer he started around the mountain towards camp, happy as a lark, promising us he would send the packer back with flour and other provisions. Little did we suspect that he would try to starve us out of the camp and thereby force us to return to headquarters.

According to prearranged plan, we intended to move down the valley and select a camp site where we could get wood. About the time we started the wind blew a gale, bringing rain and sleet. For four hours we tramped through the wet underbrush with the elements pelting and lashing us in their fury. We were drenched to the skin. As soon as our camp site was selected, we threw off our packs in a drizzling rain and each man turned to his task. Two arranged the canvas under a spreading scrub hemlock, for we needed the protection from the wind. Soon a huge fire was going, dispensing its cheerful warmth through the gloom, driving away the blues of my companion, who was beginning to complain a great deal. Disrobing, we hung our wet clothing over the surrounding limbs, where it was soon steaming away, while the hunters were toasting their shins as they waited for dry clothes and liquid refreshment, for by this time the teapot was trying to quench the little side fire and the sizzling lamb chops were about done to a finish. After a while my friend began to thaw out; turning to me, he said: "Billy, I wonder what our friends would say if they saw us now. I have no doubt they would suggest a committee of the person," and I answered: "But this is only one side of it. We enjoy life by contrast. When we get into our dry clothing, how we will enjoy it, and when the sun shines to-morrow, how it will fill our hearts with gladness! Every thorn has its rose, the darkest cloud its silver lining."

[Ill.u.s.tration: Seeking a Ford]

After a good night's rest and something to eat, we divided into two parties. My companion and his guide going toward the north, I started westward up Benjamin Creek with the intention of crossing, but the current was so swift that it was impossible to find a ford. Although the guide, with me on his back, waded into the ice-cold water several times, he was forced to return for fear of being carried off his feet. On the opposite side of the creek could be seen a great many sheep, some feeding, others lying down on rocky points from which they could command a good view of the surrounding valley. They are very quick to distinguish any strange object a long way off, and before you can get at all near they take to the summit and disappear beyond. In the flock there was not a single head that could be considered a trophy worthy of the chase, even to a tenderfoot. I am sorry I did not have a telephoto lens, for I could have secured a fairly good picture of the group. My friend, George Shiras, III., got many good pictures in this same location with a telephoto lens.

In ecstasy I followed the stream, reveling in the solitude of the rocky fastnesses, where the right of eminent domain is granted by the Creator to none save the cloven-hoofed creatures who have roamed there unmolested from time immemorial. But now they are being taught a new lesson. The modern gun in hands controlled by steady nerves and unerring eye sounds the death knell of the species, unless they are given protection. They are learning slowly and by bitter experience that even at any distance they are in imminent danger from the rifle.

Away yonder on the uppermost crag stood His Majesty, as though chiseled out of and forming a part of the very rock itself. A little below stood his companion, another big ram. Selecting the lower sheep for a trophy, I elevated the sights for six hundred yards. I instructed the guide to watch with the field-gla.s.ses where the lead struck the rock. A loud report, a great recoil, and a thud carried the message of danger to the curious, though unsuspecting, sheep. The guide said, "A little too high." In the meantime the rams were nervous and undecided what to do, seeming uncertain as to the exact location of the enemy. Another thud on the rocks, this time below, and then away they went out of sight over the crest. We did not see them again, and they offered the only desirable trophies of their kind that we found on the trip. In the fall the big rams roam together a great deal in the most remote and inaccessible places, the ewes generally flocking by themselves. It seems to be the popular belief in that country that the large rams separate from the flocks and withdraw by themselves at that season. We saw several flocks, an average of seventy-five sheep a day, but there were no big rams among them.

Our attention is attracted by a movement on the ground, a glimpse of a marmot, as, making a bolt along its well-worn path, it disappears into a hole, reappears, and again disappears,--a caper which is characteristic of the little animal, as though he were curious to know something definite about the invaders of his domain. This habit frequently gives the hunter a shot, but their tenacity of life is so great that they usually get back into the hole and one seldom recovers the body. Their flesh is quite a delicacy among the natives, as well as to the hunter when hungry. He is conscious of their presence at all times, for their whistling can be heard continually in every direction.

The ptarmigan are plentiful, some partly concealed among the rocks, and some walking about craning their necks, all beautiful in their moulting plumage. Each is in a different stage of transformation from the handsome brown of summer to the more beautiful winter dress of snow-white. How wonderful are the ways of the Creator for the preservation of the species! If the summer plumage were to remain until the whole land is covered with snow, how easy it would be for the ptarmigan hawk, occasionally seen soaring in the air, to distinguish the bird, make a dart, pick it up for his evening meal--and thus bring about the speedy extermination of this beautiful species! They are so tame you could kill with stones all you would eat. The manner in which nature provides protection for the inhabitants of the snow peaks is ill.u.s.trated again in the case of the sheep, which are white.

We saw many beautiful little flowers, the bluebell always in evidence, daisies, a bunch of forget-me-nots, and what fascinated me beyond description,--several bunches of violets away above the snow-line. They took me back to the springtime in the Middle States. The wild geraniums were in bloom, varying in color from a delicate purple to a faded hue, with leaves colored from green to scarlet.

When we left the main camp provisions enough to last two days were packed. It was our intention to keep a packer going between camps carrying our supplies; thus we could move from place to place as light as possible. When Doc returned from the last camp to headquarters with his lamb and a packer to show him the way, he promised faithfully to send the Indian back to us with a good supply of provisions. We suggested writing down the articles desired, but he thought this was not necessary,--that a good supply would be forthcoming. Thus we separated.

My companion was uneasy for fear of the Indian not being able to find our camp, for our supplies were getting low. I had no fear from this source, knowing well the natural instinct of a child of the forest for taking our trail, which was so p.r.o.nounced that even a novice could follow us. You may imagine the chagrin of the party when he returned on the following day with no flour and only bread enough to last one meal.

We then came to the conclusion that Doc was tired of the hunt and had adopted this means of forcing us by starvation to return to the provision camp. We hunted all that day with only one small biscuit apiece. It was raining, and in the evening, when we returned to camp wet and hungry, a large fire was built and our wet clothing dried. A tin cup full of boiling hot tea soon revived our depressed spirits. This, with a few ptarmigan roasted on a spit, enabled us to retire in good condition.

By this time my comrade could not stand the hardships any longer and wanted to return to the lake. He insisted that there were no big trophies in the country. I succeeded in getting him to stay a day or two longer by telling him I had seen a large ram. The last day we hunted together we came upon a prospector's cache. On top of a large stone we noticed a pile of small stones arranged in a way that at first sight indicated the hand of man. Examining the pile we found beans, flour, and dried fruits. Although we had been living on porcupine for two days, the natives refused to touch the cache. There is an unwritten law among prospectors and hunters that is never violated in this far-away land.

The cache is never disturbed, for they know full well that some fellow-man is depending upon the provisions to reach civilization, and to disturb it may cost the life of the owner. However, if one in a starving condition helps himself, he leaves his name and the owner considers it an act of humanity. Those only who have been in a similar situation can appreciate what it means. One of the guides insisted it was cached by the owner, who had gone back to civilization and left it in the hope that some person in great need might find it. How we longed to have a mess of those navy beans, but we had not yet reached the condition where we could help ourselves, for we were only one day's march from plenty.

Finally my companion had his way, and in the morning, though the weather looked threatening, we started, two of the packers towards camp with the outfit, and the hunters for the summit once more. While resting a little before we made the ascent of a high mountain, my guide pointed out a large moose, with huge palmated horns. He was feeding peacefully in the distance, occasionally looking around as though always on the alert for foes. One horn was still in the velvet, and on the other the velvet was dangling down just ready to drop off, with the red corpuscles on the antlers glittering in the rain.

By and by the clouds began to form on the mountain-tops, and gradually lowered until they enveloped the entire mountains and valleys. Again the rain commenced, and continued a steady downpour for the remainder of the day. The fates were against us in respect to the weather, but we did not have to go hungry, for the marmots were plentiful, whistling here and there, as though a kind Providence had provided a good supper for the camp. After walking all day in a cold, drizzling rain that was almost sleet, we overtook our packers, who had been traveling since morning in order to reach a camping place where there were both wood and water. We finally reached the foothills, where we found water and scrub spruce in abundance. One of the guides, while "rustling" sticks for fire, ran onto a large porcupine, and between marmot soup and porcupine roast we had an abundance to satisfy the inner man.

After the Indians had eaten their fill,--and the amount they could eat was surprising,--the one that got the brisket had picked it clean and started to twirl it in the air, uttering some chanting words each time he tossed it, until it fell with the narrow side up, then he turned to his companions laughing and shaking his head. Then another went through the same motions. I subsequently learned that if the narrow side turned up frequently this indicated they would have another "porky" on the morrow. Porcupine they prefer to any other kind of meat. The intestines seem to be considered the choice morsels. Our guide would take hold of the intestine with one hand and with the other would strip it of its contents in the various stages of digestion. Then to each man would be allotted his _pro rata_ share,--and each was careful to see that he got his full portion of the delicacy. Next they would string the sections on sticks and gather round the fire on their "hunkers," singeing the tidbits more or less, each according to his taste. Upon our inquiring why they did not wash the dainties, they explained that washing spoiled the flavor. There was a great deal of humor about them and they frequently tried to play simple jokes on each other. Occasionally one would reach for the field-gla.s.ses, look long and earnestly, then point in the direction of the mountain to some rocks and shout "Mushee"[1]

(meaning "Sheep"), and when another member of the party would hurriedly reach for the gla.s.ses and shout "No mushee," all would have a laugh at his expense. They are great tea drinkers and when in camp the teapot is always on the fire getting hot for the next cup. If for any reason they were compelled to do without it, they would sulk until they got it.

[Footnote 1: The term for mountain sheep in the language of the British Columbian Indians is "Scoulaps."]

It rained all night and we did not rest well, although very tired after our trip over long stretches of mountain-side covered with loose stones of all sizes and forms thrown down by the elements from the mountain-top.

The bed was hard; the tent was pitched under a scrub hemlock to get protection from the strong wind that was blowing down the pa.s.s. The wind moaned and groaned all the fore part of the night, then subsided, but the rain continued till morning. The Nimrods huddled together in a small depression on the ground, with no bed but the rubber blankets and very scanty covering. Our hip bones would get sore, and one would turn and then the other, continually. We were glad to see the dawn of another day. All night long, "drip, drip, drip" in different parts of the tent the rain could be heard. The hunting shoe of my companion, standing upright under one of the largest leaks, proved an opportune receptacle, consequently in the morning his shoe was about half full of rain water.

After a breakfast of porcupine stewed with a spoonful of evaporated potatoes and washed down with a cup of tea, we folded our tent and plodded our weary way towards camp. Blueberries and salmon-berries were very plentiful. We found at the higher elevations an abundance of a species of blueberry, the woody plants of which grew less than three inches in height. They were laden with a small berry, very sweet to the taste, and so plentiful that they could be stripped off by the handful.

Among them grew another species as heavily laden with red fruit, which I think was a species of partridge-berry. The two grew about the same height. The Indians preferred the red berries and seemed fond of them.

As for myself, I was not partial to them, but ate liberally of the blue.

Among the berries we came upon a covey of ptarmigan feeding. Doc, murderously inclined, fired some ten shots at one of them before it flew. Indeed, so recklessly did he scatter his leaden pellets as the birds rose, that old Shanghai, one of our Indians, called to me: "Hey, Billy, Billy! Come on! d.a.m.n! Him make bullets whiz by head!"

As we reached lower levels, the blueberries gave way to salmon-berries.

They resemble raspberries in growth and appearance, but have a peculiar tart flavor. They were in great abundance, and were much relished by our party.

We arrived at camp in due time, tired and hungry, but none the worse for our experience, and after a short rest, quite ready for another tramp through the enchanting forest of birch, Cottonwood, and hemlock.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Ptarmigan]

On our way through the woods the Indians gathered for snuff-making a great many fungi growing on the birch trees. In preparing the snuff, they first take a birch limb of sufficient size and with a pocket-knife cut out a round hole about two inches in diameter and an inch and a half deep; this is the mortar. The fungi are then placed in the hot coals of a birch-wood fire until they are charred through and through, when they are broken into the mortar with a like amount of tobacco leaves. Then with another piece of birch wood about three feet long for a pestle the mixture is ground in the mortar until it becomes of the color and consistency of a moist snuff. This the Indians continually chew and rub in their teeth. Of the many uses of the n.o.ble birch surely this is the most unique.

From the seedling to the giant tree the life history of the birch is one of usefulness to the inhabitants of the wild. The hardwood ridge over yonder looks like the woods in the vicinity of a beaver community, only over a much larger area. Acres and acres of birch trees averaging two inches in diameter are broken off a couple of feet from the ground by the giant moose, which straddle a sapling and bend it down to browse upon the boughs and tender twigs of the top. An old-timer in the country told us that once after a hard winter he came upon several "moose yards"

in the spring and found many bodies of moose that had starved to death.

He also told us that he had saved the lives of quite a number by cutting down trees where they could feed and thus tide themselves over a severe spell of bad weather. The birch-buds nourish the grouse during the winter. Birch-bark starts the fire and birch-wood furnishes the fuel. Birch-bark supplies the natives raw material from which to manufacture canoes and various utensils and trinkets. Taking it all in all I do not know of any other tree of the forest that is put to so many uses. An interesting instance of its application to the culinary art comes to mind. According to a tradition in our family, some of whom were pioneers in the Huron district of Canada, the Indians taught them to make a very fair subst.i.tute for baking powder out of a compound of the ashes of birch and hickory wood. I am sorry I never learned the formula.

Around the camp fire we gathered just before retiring. The night was dark. The doleful cry of the solitary great northern diver (_Urinator imperator_) came through the stillness of the invigorating atmosphere, and scarcely would the echo die away in the distant hills until the call was repeated. The bird may have been floating on the surface of the lake, or flying in the air, calling, as it frequently does while in flight. The native Indians, like the sailors, do not take kindly to the laughing of the loon, for there is a superst.i.tion among them that it forebodes bad weather or some misfortune. The camp-fire was burning brightly, cutting a luminous hemisphere out of the inky darkness. In the north the aurora borealis was throwing its weird light in streamers stretched in a semicircle over the horizon. While I was admiring these the moon pushing up over the black hilltop across the lake, looked cherry-red. It seemed as though I was under a spell. In my fancy I could see a great boat approaching over the dark water, with a huge search-light just rotating into view and sweeping the northern heavens with its rays. But even as I gazed the full moon appeared in all its northern splendor, the vision dissolved, and I realized that the northern lights and Old Luna had played a prank on me.

The next day we packed our belongings and shifted camp some four miles farther south on the same lake. As soon as the bow of our little boat struck the sh.o.r.e we hopped out and began a reconnoiter for a camp site.

A well-worn path across the narrow neck of land separating one little fiord from another attracted our attention. A stroll in that direction disclosed a camp which had lately been occupied by some unknown party.

On a tree we found the card of our fellow townsman, George Shiras, III., who had recently left the camp for the sheep country. It was like receiving a letter from home. How pleasant the surprise had we been so fortunate as to meet him! The "few days in camp together," suggested by his invitation of long standing, would have been realized by a strange coincidence. While he left civilization from Seward, we departed by way of Kenai, several hundred miles distant, yet both arrived at the same place, he by way of the upper Kenai and we by the lower.

A hurried pitching of camp in antic.i.p.ation of rain, which had been incessant for the past four days, with only brief intervals of relief from the downpour, put us in excellent shape, with plenty of spruce boughs for bedding, before the rain began to patter, patter on the stretched canvas. To me a most interesting experience is that of being lulled into dreamland under such conditions. It may be due to the effect of the ozone and to the fact that in the woods one is always tired when night comes.