The chief result of this expedition, besides the exploration of about one hundred miles of unknown country, was the publication by Robert Dunn of an extraordinary narrative in several consecutive numbers of Outing, afterward republished in book form, with some modifications, as “The Shameless Diary of an Explorer,” a vivid but unpleasant production, for which every squabble and jealousy of the party furnishes literary material. The book has a curious, undeniable power, despite its brutal frankness and its striving after “the poor renown of being smart,” and it may live. One is thankful, however, that it is unique in the literature of travel.
Cook's Second Attempt
Three years later Doctor Cook organized an expedition for a second attempt upon the mountain. In May, 1906, accompanied by Professor Herschel Parker, Mr. Belmore Browne, a topographer named Porter, who made some valuable maps, and packers, the party landed at the head of Cook’s Inlet and penetrated by motor-boat and by pack-train into the Sushitna country, south of the range. Failing to cross the range at the head of the Yentna, they spent some time in explorations along the Kahilitna River, and, finding no avenue of approach to the heights of the mountain, the party returned to Cook’s Inlet and broke up.
With only one companion, a packer named Edward Barrille, Cook returned in the launch up the Chulitna River to the Tokositna late in August. “We had already changed our mind as to the impossibility of climbing the mountain,” he writes. Ascending a glacier which the Tokositna River drains, named by Cook the Ruth Glacier, they reached the amphitheatre at the glacier head. From this point, “up and up to the heaven-scraped granite of the top,” Doctor Cook grows grandiloquent and vague, for at this point his true narrative ends.
Approaching the range.
The claims that Doctor Cook made upon his return are well known, but it is quite impossible to follow his course from the description given in his book, “To the Top of the Continent.” This much may be said: from the summit of the mountain, on a clear day, it seemed evident that no ascent was possible from the south side of the range at all. That was the judgment of all four members of our party. Doctor Cook talks about “the heaven-scraped granite of the top” and “the dazzling whiteness of the frosted granite blocks,” and prints a photograph of the top showing granite slabs. There is no rock of any kind on the South (the higher) Peak above nineteen thousand feet. The last one thousand five hundred feet of the mountain is all permanent snow and ice; nor is the conformation of the summit in the least like the photograph printed as the “top of Mt. McKinley.” In his account of the view from the summit he speaks of “the ice-blink caused by the extensive glacial sheets north of the Saint Elias group,” which would surely be out of the range of any possible vision, but does not mention at all the master sight that bursts upon the eye when the summit is actually gained—the great mass of “Denali’s Wife,” or Mount Foraker, filling all the middle distance. We were all agreed that no one who had ever stood on the top of Denali in clear weather could fail to mention the sudden splendid sight of this great mountain.
But it is not worth while to pursue the subject further. The present writer feels confident that any man who climbs to the top of Denali, and then reads Doctor Cook’s account of his ascent, will not need Edward Barrille’s affidavit to convince him that Cook’s narrative is untrue. Indignation is, however, swallowed up in pity when one thinks upon the really excellent pioneering and exploring work done by this man, and realizes that the immediate success of the imposition about the ascent of Denali doubtless led to the more audacious imposition about the discovery of the North Pole—and that to his discredit and downfall.