Trails and Tramps in Alaska and Newfoundland. William S. Thomas

Native Boys out Gunning

      Abandoning the party at this point, I took a stroll through the woods. There I happened upon half a dozen native boys shooting at a mark with guns. They were not aware of my presence until one of the boys standing apart from the others noticed what I was doing. Before he got away, however, I had his image on the film. I walked away a few steps and sat down on a log to put in a new film. When I lifted my head, to my surprise every last one of the little rascals had me covered with his gun. One emphatic sentence from me wilted their timid spirits and they skulked away.

Sunset near St. Elias

      The attractive feature of Yakutat is a favorable view of Mt. St. Elias. When we were going up the bay the heavy clouds shrouded the mountain, obstructing our view, and how disappointed were the passengers as the boat steamed on toward the head of the bay, where the nearer peaks would shut off our view of St. Elias, even if other conditions had been favorable! But when we were leaving the harbor the same day the atmospheric conditions were just right to array the scene in all its splendor. The air was filled with low floating clouds fringed with the most brilliant colors from the setting sun, and as the clouds lifted, the purple foothills added splendor and enchantment to the slope that extended its snow-capped peak eighteen thousand feet into the blue concave of the heavens. Up to this time aboard our ship peace, happiness, and sociability reigned supreme, but when the open waters of the Pacific were reached and the “woollies,” as the fierce blasts from the icy ranges are called by the sailors, struck us, tossing the spray over the pitching, rocking, and quivering steamer, sociability disappeared and peace and happiness left the faces of all the passengers, while the pallor of death overspread blooming countenances. Thereupon the fishes became alert and the herring gulls, gracefully soaring in the wake of the steamer, uttered their hungry call of expectation. Surely ’tis an ill wind that blows no good.

Cape St. Elias

      The steamer belched forth the smoke from its stack as we moved slowly along the coast toward Katella harbor, the next port of entry. For fifty miles on the right of us could be seen the terminal edge of the famous Malaspina glacier, looking like the white crest of breakers crashing against a rocky coast. Ahead of us appeared Cape St. Elias, one of the most picturesque promontories of Alaska. Its divided point projected a long way into the ocean and the captain gave it a wide berth.

      On reaching Controller Bay the good ship anchored in the poor harbor. Presently a boat, hailing from the revenue cutter Tahoma, pulled by eight sturdy seamen dressed in their clean, picturesque suits of blue and white, drew near the side of the steamer, and the officer in charge, tall and erect, a fine specimen of manhood, came up the rope ladder and made straight toward Secretary Fisher. In a short time one of the seamen was on the top deck gesticulating with hat and handkerchief to the cutter in the distance. On the cutter could be seen against the sky-line an ensign going through similar signs in answer to the instructions given. The Secretary and his party left the steamer very quietly without a cheer, and as he arrived on the cutter the booming of the cannon, repeated nineteen times, signaled the reception of the party.

      Controller Bay is not a natural harbor and the problem it presents is whether an engineer can construct at a reasonable cost an artificial harbor that will protect vessels from the terrific gales that sweep the coast during the winter months. Engineers differ on this matter; some say that the solution of the problem is a great dike constructed of concrete, and others think that a wall could not be built strong enough to withstand the powerful currents and massive ice floes of Controller Bay, and for this reason it is believed that the only terminal facilities for the Behring coal fields are at Cordova, by water some hundred miles farther north.

      At the present time a railroad is being built up the Copper River valley, which is the natural gateway to the great coal and copper deposits of the interior and the rich Tanana Valley. In constructing a railroad up this valley serious difficulties must be overcome. The question of labor is very important. Because of the continual rains and the short open season the highest wages must be paid. To get up the valley, it is necessary to cross the Copper River between two glaciers, and the topography of the country is such that it is a difficult engineering feat to construct a roadbed that will not be carried away by the spring freshets and the glaciers, which are continually changing. Miles and Childs glaciers vary in their movements, at times receding and again advancing, controlled by forces which are not fully understood.

Hinchinbrook Island

Valdez after the Flood

Bruin in a Steel Trap

      Leaving Katella we soon pass Cape Hinchinbrook, where several steamers have been cast ashore and wrecked upon the rocky coast. Entering Prince William Sound we find the water smoother and a pleasant run is made to Cordova, the present terminus of the Copper River Railroad. Our next stop was Valdez, with its land-locked harbor. The town is built practically on the moraine of a glacier. Sometimes the channel of a glacier stream changes; in the year 1911 such a change took place and carried away about half of the town. In order to prevent a similar accident in the future, the citizens turned out and constructed a levee of logs, rocks, and sand. Valdez glacier extends down from the summit a distance of twenty miles, the foot being about five miles from the town. During the winter of 1898 gold was first discovered near Center City in the interior. The excitement was great at Valdez, some seven thousand men gathering from all parts of the States to seek their fortunes. So great was the rush for the gold-fields that one continuous procession of prospectors, carrying all kinds of outfits, passed northward over the glacier. The following year many perished on their way out. My guide carried the mail that year, and on one trip found seven men who had frozen to death, having been caught in a storm on the glacier. The whole party were very weak on account of scurvy and unable to reach Valdez. When found, two were lashed to sleds and one was sitting on a piece of ice, his head resting on his hands. On the same trip my guide came upon an old miner frozen to death, still holding to the handle of his dog sleigh, while the dog lay curled up in a ball, still alive and still in the harness.

      After spending several days at Valdez, arrangements were made with the captain of the Hammond for a small boat to take us about fifty miles south into Gravenna Bay. Our little skiff was towed behind all day, and at five o’clock in the evening we were informed by the captain that he was afraid to go up the bay any farther for fear of striking a rock. Consequently our camping outfit had to be piled into our dory in a pouring rain, and after the captain gave two gongs, as the pilot shouted, “Great luck, boys!” the tug left us and disappeared around the cape in the distance. And here we were, fifty miles from human habitation, dependent for our return to civilization upon making connections with this same little tug at its next visit a month later.

      Prepared for the rain with rubber boots and oilcoats, we pulled towards the head of the bay, before the wind and on a flowing tide, so that our little craft fairly glided over the water. About twilight we pitched camp in a drenching rain. If there is one thing more than another which dampens the enthusiasm for the wild, it is making camp with everything soaked. But by perseverance in due time we were getting our supper, snugly housed in our eight by ten tent, and happier than kings in a royal palace. To the music of the rain I soon fell asleep.

      In the morning consciousness was restored by the “quack, quack” of the ducks and the splash of the salmon running to their spawning ground,—the occasional wriggling splash of an old “humpback” who had run up the shore too far and was trying to get back into deeper water, the loud splash of the high jumper, and the faint swish of the thousands on their way to fresh water. After breakfast I donned my hunting outfit and strolled