Gold Hunting in Alaska

by Joseph Grinnell

Besides the saw-mill, there was the furniture factory. C. C. and Harry Reynolds and Dr. Coffin were engaged in that enterprise. As a result the cabin is supplied with double bedsteads, with spring-pole slats and mattresses. And there are lines of wooden pegs in the wall for hanging clothing, and carpets for the bed-rooms made of gunny-sacking stuffed with dry moss.

A partial partition runs lengthwise of the cabin. At the kitchen end this partition is composed of a tier of wood, then an entrance space, and then a series of shelves from top to bottom for pantry, medical department and library, which latter is extensive. At the farther end is another open space communicating with the "bed-rooms." The whole inside of the cabin is lined with white canvas tenting, which brightens us up ten times better than dark logs. On the south side of the partition is the "living-room," "dining-room" and "kitchen;" all in one apartment to be sure, but yet with their recognized limits. On the north side of the partition is the bed-room. There are three double beds and three single ones, according to the wishes of the occupants. A pole runs crosswise of the apartment, and on each side of this is a line of pegs hung full of clothes. This forms a wall dividing the apartment into "bed-rooms." Carpeted alleys run between the beds, and the walls are hung with clothing. What we are to do with all this clothing I do not know.

Our Sitting-room.

Oct. 21.—Just through supper and everyone has settled down to read, excepting several who have gone out to "call at the neighbors'." C. C. Reynolds, our president, undertaker, preacher, all-around-man, has taken to cooking. He started in well. For supper he gave us some fine tarts. I am glad to be relieved from the cooking, and do not intend to engage in the business again. We shall see.

I am skinning mice now, little red-backed fellows which swarm in the woods and around the houses. I set my traps every night. This morning I had a dozen. Wolverines and foxes are common about here, but they are too cute for me and decline to be caught in the steel traps which I keep constantly set for them. An Indian shot two deer in the mountains and brought them to the village. The doctor traded for some venison, which is better than the bear meat, though I have no craving for either. The boys think me a baby because I prefer "mush" to meat.

Last Sunday the temperature fell to even zero. The trees were heavily covered with hoar frost, and the scene, as the sun rose upon it, was magnificent.

Our Kitchen.

Everything is frozen solid. The river has nearly a foot of ice already. The natives are fishing through the ice and their methods are very novel to me. They select a narrow place in the river, and through holes cut in the Ice they stick spruce poles with the branches left on, so that a fence is formed across the river between the surface and the bed. At intervals openings are left, and across these openings nets are stretched. The fish are coming down the river at this time in the year, and when they reach one of these fences they swim along until they come to one of the openings, when they are caught in the net. An Indian woman lies on the ice face down, all covered over tight above with brush and tent cloth, so she can watch when the fish get into the net. Besides netting them this way, the natives have baited lines laid for the larger fish. Hooks are not used, but the bait, a small fish for instance, is tied to the end of a string, and with it a short, slender stick. A large fish swallows the bait and the stick with it. When the fish starts away the line is jerked taut, and the stick turns crosswise in his stomach, and holds the game secure until drawn up through the hole in the ice. Several of us were over watching the Indians fishing yesterday and were examining Some of the fish. I picked one up in my innocence, but was commanded to put it down. The women were very much vexed with me, and were careful to place the fish exactly the way it was. Clyde came with his camera to take some photographs, but the natives considered it "bad luck," and he was remonstrated with vehemently, and finally went away, dallying until he had taken a shot or two. These women will have their hands full with us boys before the winter is over, I fear.