OCT. 30.—Returned last night from a six days' trip up Hunt River. Clyde and I started together with the expectation of getting far into the mountain ranges. As has been my custom from a small boy when starting on a trip. I made big preparations, much bigger than necessary. We had grub enough for two weeks. The boys expected great things on our return—bear, deer and other game, all of which was confidently promised. But to tell the honest truth, I wanted to get some chickadees and butcher birds. To carry our voluminous outfit we appropriated a sled belonging to a neighboring Indian who had gone fishing. These native sleds are very light, having birch runners, and slender spruce frame-work, the whole strongly lashed together with raw-hide thongs. Every morning before loading we poured water on the runners, thus forming an ice shoe. As yet there is no snow, so that our route necessarily lay along the frozen river, which was covered with a foot of ice. Our load weighed about three hundred pounds, and where the ice was smooth little exertion was needed to draw the sled as fast as we could walk. In some places sand had blown into the ice and such spots would give us hard work. We wore "creepers" on our heavy boots—that is, a kind of conical pointed spike, screwed into the bottoms, three into the heel and four into the sole of the shoe. With these we can walk anywhere up or down upon the ice without slipping. In traveling, one of us pulled the sled, with the rope over his shoulder, while the other pushed. Across the rear of the sled were two sticks projecting backwards and upwards, with a cross-piece to push against, baby-carriage fashion.
The first day we made rapid progress, making twenty-five miles. We camped at night not far from the first foot-hills. The tent was raised in a grove of cottonwoods near the river, and soon a fire roared in the camp stove. When I had the fire well started, I went down to get a pail of water. I walked to the middle of the creek and began to chop hard where I thought the ice was thinnest. Sure enough I had judged correctly, for with the second stroke the ice gave way under me, and down I went to the arm-pits in the icy water. I had fallen through an air hole. Luckily the ice all around was firm, so that I could raise myself up and wriggle out, or else my bath might have been continued. As it was, before I could reach the tent my clothes were frozen stiff. The temperature was below zero.
Fortunately for me I had a warm tent and a change of clothes to go to. Meanwhile Clyde had cut a big pile of wood and soon we were wrestling with piles of flapjacks.
After supper I had another experience with the ice. Forgetting that I had exchanged my wet boots for a pair of shoes without creepers in them. I started to go across the river. After the first ice had formed the river had fallen, and now the ice sagged downward from the banks towards the middle, hammock-wise. As soon as I stepped on the ice my feet flew out from under me and down I slid. I got up, no worse for wear, but with a sudden recollection that I had no creepers on. I cautiously started to walk to the bank, but on account of the slant of the slippery ice, I could make little headway before slipping back. I was in a similar position to that of a mouse in a tin basin. Finally by walking down the river a short distance, I pulled myself up by an overhanging willow.
Next morning at sunrise—eight o'clock—we started on up the river. Soon we came to long stretches of open water where the stream had been too swift to freeze over. In several places the icy margin was so narrow that it afforded room for but one runner on the ice, and we had to drag the sled over pebbles and sand.
Owing to the fact that the stream became swifter the further we went, we turned about and started back with a view to making camp among the willows down the river, where we had seen the most birds on the way up.
Native Method of Piling Winter Wood.
Clyde shot twice with his rifle at a red fox, but missed it. He got "rattled." as one usually does when shooting at game, and as I have seen good hunters do. He tried a target at the same distance as the fox had been and hit the bull's-eye squarely.
We got down to the willows late in the evening, but in time to select a sheltered place for the tent before dark. While I cooked the supper Clyde gathered a large stack of hay for our bed. In a swale near by the finest kind of red-top hay, all cured, stood waist deep. Here, among the willows, eight miles from Camp Penelope, we remained for four nights. There were a good many fox and wolf tracks in the sand, and I had my traps set all the time, but without success. However. I obtained a mouse new to me—the lemming. Clyde tramped through the country toward the mountains, but saw nothing of importance. He fished and brought back three grayling. I paid my respects to the small birds and secured four rare chickadees, besides several redpolls, pine grosbeaks. Alaskan jay, grouse, ptarmigan, etc. I had bad luck with ptarmigan. I missed seven good shots for some reason. The ptarmigan are now clothed in very thick winter plumage, which may account for it in part.