Which brings me to a realization that the first half of my journey—the preliminary survey of the Yukon—is slowly closing; a little, and it will be the sea and other conditions, which also brings the realization that I have seen much but learned not greatly. What should be done would be to own a suitable fast boat; to locate on each of the more important old sites a party for careful, prolonged excavation; and to try to locate, in the rear of or on the higher places on the present river flats, more ancient sites than are known to date. These steps, together with the enlisting of the interest in these matters of every prospector, miner, and trader, would before many years lead to much substantial knowledge.
Friday, July 9. Must keep up these notes, for they alone keep me posted on the day and date; even then I am not always sure. There are no Sundays in nature.
Slept in my bag on the roof of the Agnes. Her namesake must have been one of these goodly but insufficient and but indifferently clean native women, plodding, doing not a little work, but wanting in many a thing. It was cold and dreary, but I found an additional blanket, and so, with mosquito netting about my head—one or two got in anyway—would have slept quite well had it not been for a dog. At about 1 a. m. we stopped in front of a little place called also "Mountain Village." And almost at once we began to hear a most piteous and insistent wail of a dog who either had colic or thirst or hunger, and he kept it up with but little stops for what seemed like two hours, making my sleep, at least, impossible.
Saturday, July 9. Morning. Cold, cloudy, rough—head almost beginning to feel uncomfortable, the boat is tossing so much. A teacher comes aboard with an inflamed hand which I fix; a few questions, the mail bag, and we are off again. Enter a slough where it is less rough and warmer. Later the sun will probably come out again. This evening we shall be at Old Hamilton and then a new anxiety—how to get to St. Michael.
Just had a little walk over the roof—my roof, for the other two passengers prefer to sleep in the gassy, dingy room below, though how they can stand it is beyond my medical ken. It is four short steps long, or five half steps in an oblique direction.
Every object in distance appears magnified all along the river for many days now. An old snag will look like a boat or a man, hills look higher, a boat looks much more pretentious than she proves to be on meeting.
Firs and spruce have now completely disappeared, also forests of birch, etc., are reduced to brush both on flats and lower parts of hills. Very large portion of the hills in distance just greenish with grass and lichens, not even a brush.
9.45 a. m. Meet the Matanuska bound upward. Looked from distance like an ocean steamer; from near, just a lumbering, moderate-sized river boat with a barge in front. But a whole lot better than ours.
The scenery has become monotonous. The gray river, although only one of the "mouths," is broad, and the country is all low. Nothing but bushy or grassy cut banks on the right, and mud flats, "smoking" under the wind, to low banks on left. It is a little warmer and the warm sun shows itself occasionally, but I still need the wrapping of a double blanket. The wind luckily is with us and the waves not too bad.
Noon. Passing "Fish village"; a few huts and tents.