"The second day we went up Dyea canon. It is only three miles long, but seems fully thirty. This is true of all distances in this country. About one hundred pounds is about all a man wants to pull in this canon, as the way is steep and the ice slippery. So camps must be made short distances apart, as you have to go over the trail several times in bringing up your outfit. Remember, an ordinary outfit weighs from 500 to 800 pounds, and some of them much more.
"But the summit of Chilcoot Pass—that's the place that puts the yellow fear into many a man's heart. Some took one look at it, sold their outfits for what they would bring and turned back. This pass is over the ridge which skirts the coast. It is only about 1,200 feet from base to top, but it is almost straight up and down—a sheer steep of snow and ice. There is a blizzard blowing there most of the time, and when it is at its height, no man may cross. For days at a time the summit is impassable. An enterprising man named Burns has rigged a windlass and cable there, and with this he hoists up some freight at a cent a pound. The rest is carried over on the backs of Indians. We were detained ten days waiting our turn to have our outfits carried over and for favoring weather.
"After going about three miles up a dark canon a whirling snow storm struck us. But having risen at such an unconscionable hour we would not turn back. Our pride was near the end of us. I hope I may never experience such another day. The air was so filled with snow that at times it was impossible to see ten feet. It was all we could do to keep our feet against the wind which howled down the mountain. My beard became a mass of ice.
"The trail was soon obliterated and we were lost. But we stumbled on and by a rare chance we came upon the handle of a shovel which marked our cache. There was nothing to do but fight our way back to camp. The storm did not abate in the slightest. In fact, it raged for four long days. It was nearly dark when with knocking knees we got back to camp, more dead than alive.
"The next day ten men made up a party to go on the same trip back for their outfits. The day after that they were found huddled in a hole dug in a drift eating raw bacon. After another day of rest we put masts on our sleds, rigged sails and came across Lake Linderman and over Linderman Portage. We are now camped on the head of Lake Bennet."
Another letter written by Mr. Mizner from Forty Mile City, as late as June 12th, is quite as interesting. He says:
"The trip was an interesting one, but very dangerous. Many men lost their boats and everything they had, and there are rumors of men having been drowned. Shortly after leaving Lake Laborge we came upon a party who had just rescued two young fellows from rocks in the middle of the rapids. They could not save their outfit or their demolished boat, and all they had went down the river with the rushing flood. One of the young men had everything but his shirt stripped from him by the swirl. We took him in charge and landed him at Klondyke.
"The big canyon between Mud Lake and Lake Laborge is a grand and impressive place. The river above is a quarter of a mile wide, but in the canyon it narrows to fifty feet. The walls rise on either side, sheer and smooth, full seventy-five feet. Down rushes the water with a frightful roar, rolling the waves at least ten feet high. Like everybody else, we went down ahead to take a look before shooting these rapids. From the cliff view the task seems impossible, but there is no other way, and shoot you must. So, with Wilson at the oars to hold her straight, I took the steering paddle, and we made for the mouth of the gorge.
"It was all over in about thirty seconds. We were through in safety, but it was the most hair-raising thirty seconds I ever experienced. There was quite enough thrill in it for a lifetime. Over the terrifying roar of the water we could faintly hear the cheer put up by the undecided hundred or more men who lined the cliffs above us. Up came the ice-cold water against us in tubfuls. We were wet through. So was everything else in the boat, and the boat itself half full of water. But we were soon bailed and dried—and safe.
"Then we went on to the White House Rapids, and here we let our boat through with long ropes. Two days later we shot the Five Finger Rapids and the Rink Rapids without any trouble. The last four days of the trip we fixed up our stove in the boat, and only went ashore twice for wood. The mosquitoes on the shore are numbered by the million and are fierce as bull terriers, but in the middle of the river they troubled us but little.