A Voyage to the Arctic in the Whaler Aurora

by David Moore Lindsay

August 20th. Wednesday. The boats were hoisted up this day and, with the Captain, I went on the ice to look at the ship. It was cold and I had on half-boots, a thick double-breasted monkey jacket, with leather gauntlets and a leather sealing cap. We walked to where the painting had been done and there admired the ship. She looked well, sitting rather down by the stern. All the crew, practically, had been standing on this ice for the last two days and nothing had happened: I went rather close to the edge and the piece I was standing on gave way and I went down at once, but on coming up, with one or two strokes, reached the ice edge. It took some seconds for my clothes to soak as I had so much on, and by that time, one of the men, Jock Fairly, came with a boat hook, by the help of which I was pulled out. My clothes were so completely water-logged that, without assistance, getting out would have been impossible. Again the gentle warmth of the top of the boiler proved a comfort.

August 21st. Thursday. Hooked on, with a stiff breeze blowing and the sky overcast. Ducks were flying in great numbers past a point half a mile away, so, taking the dingey, I went off to it. There was no shelter and, although every bird must have seen me, the silly things would not leave the ice edge, but would just swing out far enough to make my shots effective. This shooting both barrels into the "brown," as the ducks passed, was not so much fun as getting them in pairs, but one soon picks up a good bag, and as I was shooting for the pot, a bag was what I wanted. When I came on board, the birds were tied in bundles and hung up on the davit guys above the quarter boats.

August 22nd. During the afternoon, a bear was seen, so we went off in a boat to capture it. As there was no solid ice, the beast had to get out of and into the water so many times that he could not escape, and he was killed from the boat by the mate. I landed and tried to stalk him, but he left my pan and I could not follow him.

Two ships were in sight southeast of us. One of them was the Cornwallis, which we had not seen for some time. I was anxious to get near her as Armitage was on hoard, but she was a long way off. We always knew the other, the Esquimaux, by her mizzentop, as she had once been a full-rigged ship, although now a barque.

On Saturday, the wind blew a gale, which kept us dodging under the canvas; but by Sunday the weather had improved.

During the morning we sailed up to the shore floe, as we saw some natives there, and picked them up. They had tusks and dog skins for trade. We took them, with their dogs and sledges, on board. One of them was a good-looking, pleasant native, called Enu. He added greatly to my Eskimo vocabulary during the next few days, and he told me that deer were plentiful in certain places and that salmon abounded. We steamed south all day, after picking up the natives, the weather being cold but fine.

August 25th. Monday. Steaming down the coast and the weather quite fine. During the afternoon, a black spot inshore indicated the mouth of a river. The shore floe at this point was a mile wide, but the ice was smooth. A boat and the dingey with a net and ten men were sent to try to catch some salmon. A number of men were sent to haul the boats across the floe to the open water of the river mouth, and the natives came also. Mr. Adam took the boat and I took the dingey. We had a boat's sail, plenty of coal, two ship's kettles, coffee, sugar, salt, biscuits and tins of mutton. Arriving at the open water, our helpers returned to the ship, and the natives, after turning their sleds upside down, so that the dogs could not run away with them, came with us in the boats. We rowed into a river, which was about thirty or forty yards wide at the mouth, shallow and placid. We went up a short distance and camped on the right bank. Above our camp, the river was a nice-looking little salmon stream; but below, it was more pretentious looking on account of its width. The net was drawn, with no result. It was tried in another place without getting a fin. Then, as it was growing late, we returned to camp. Tying two oars together, with their blades crossed, we laid the end of the long steering oar between these and this gave us an excellent frame for our tent, completed by throwing the large square boat's sail over it and tucking two of the corners underneath. Then a fine coal fire was started, a kettle of coffee made, and an excellent hash prepared, by mixing tinned mutton, sea biscuits, snow, pepper and salt. We enjoyed this thoroughly and I sat by the camp fire afterwards and listened to these men tell tales of happenings in former years. Thus, on the unhospitable shores of Baffin Bay, I had my first experience of camp life. After awhile I noticed that in spite of my clothing, my back was cold, so I turned it to the fire. Then my face was nearly frozen, so I turned back. In the excitement of starting, I had thrown a rug into the boat and not thought of blankets. Now I began to wish I had brought some, for I spent a miserable night, waking up very often with the cold.

August 26th. At last the tedious night came to an end, and breakfast thawed us out and made things look more cheerful. The day was fine, so the Aurora was safe, and preparations were made for further fishing. Had the morning looked threatening, the ship would probably have signalled us to come on board. I am a keen fisherman, but the net did not appeal to me very much; so I decided to see what the country looked like and, taking Enu with me, went up the river. The bitterly cold night had caused some ice, so the men waited for a higher sun to dissipate this before we left camp. I found the country flat, as a whole, with low hills in the background. The native gave me to understand that beyond these hills was the caribou country, but one dared not risk going far from the ship, and so my chance of bagging a barren land head was small. Little gulches led away from the river, on the exposed sides of which there was no snow, but boggy ground and bad walking; while on the shady sides the ground was frozen and covered with patches of snow. I saw some places on the river which made me long to try the fly, and I am sure good sport could have been obtained. After a very tiresome walk of some hours, during which I did not see a bird or beast, I returned to camp. On coming close, I saw a man walking from the river with a salmon in each hand, the first two caught. They had tried a number of places and had caught only these, so they sent them to camp for dinner. One was put in a big ship's kettle to boil, and the other split and cut into pieces which were hung around the fire on stakes made from driftwood. Each salmon weighed about ten pounds, the flesh being very red, and while they did not compare with those from home rivers, we considered them excellent, as they were the first fresh fish we had had on the voyage. Leaving camp, I went down to the boat and found they had just taken a splendid haul; the net was shot several times and a grand total of 108 fish counted out. Dinner was ready when we reached the fire and some more fish were staked out to cook.

This delicate repast over, our things were carried down to the boats and we made our way back as we had come. Seeing us from the ship, help had been sent to bring the boats across the ice.

Many of the whalers fish for salmon every year and sometimes catch great numbers. The best place is, as stated before, a river flowing into Ponds Bay. Here several thousands are often taken.