Gold Hunting in Alaska

by Joseph Grinnell

I secured five. They are pure, spotless white with black tails. They are very conspicuous now, until the snow comes, and they seem to realize it, for they are extremely shy. They remain in flocks in the willow thickets. In the middle of the day they may be found dusting themselves on the sunny side of the river banks among the willows. Their tracks are everywhere. Although there is no snow on the ground, in many places there is a thick layer of hoar frost on the sand and grass, and tracks of any bird or animal are easily seen.

The days have grown very short now. We would have to light our candle by half-past hour, and soon we would begin to yawn, and by six we would go to sleep, not to get up again until eight the next morning; and even then it is with reluctance, on account of the cold. The tent was easy to keep comfortably warm on the inside as long as the fire burned in the stove, but in an hour after the fire went out it was as cold inside as it was outside. Clyde and I slept on the hay with two pairs of blankets under us, and two pairs over us, and a large canvas sheet outside of the blankets well tucked in. And the blankets were no common ones. They were made for the Arctic trade, and were as thick as an ordinary comforter. And then we wore all our clothes. Each had on three pairs of heavy wool socks, a hood and mittens.

In the morning the edges of the blankets were faced with ice from our breath, and the inside of the tent sparkled with a beauty I cannot describe. It was fourteen degrees below zero the last morning, and the boys at home declared we got "frozen out," the reason we returned so soon. When they found out that we did not go even to the foot of the mountains, but had camped all that time in the willows just across the river, they ridiculed us unmercifully, especially the doctor. But I'll be even with him some bright Arctic day. He even insinuated that I went on that trip just to be able to cook as much mush as I wanted to eat. I will admit that mush was a very agreeable feature of the trip.

I really obtained what I went for—the chickadees. I have tramped with a burro (a California donkey), a canoe, and at last with a sled, and I must say that the sled is preferable when one has a level surface to travel over.

We had carried grub for two weeks, a 7 × 10 tent, camp stove and three lengths of pipe, four pairs of blankets, tent fly, sailor bag full of clothing, axe, hatchet, camera, two guns, traps, etc. I think I will make another trip soon if the weather remains clear.

Nov. 7.—A week ago Dr. Coffin, Clyde and Rivers, with a Dr. Gleaves of the Hanson Camp below us, started up the Kowak to visit the other section of our company about one hundred and fifty miles north, and to find out all the news of interest along the route. They walked, carrying food, abundant clothing, and camping tools, on a sled. They hope to make the round trip in three weeks. I had intended to make the trip with them, but have not yet put up all the birds in my possession, and must work on them. We are a small family now, only six. C. C. still cooks, and I am willing he should continue the good work. He makes pies and cakes almost "as good as mother used to make," and fine yeast bread.

A damp, raw east wind makes it bitterly cold to-day. At daylight this morning I went across the river to the willows for a couple of hours. It was six degrees below zero when I started, and I wore only a thin hood and mittens and a canvas jumper. By the time I got well across I felt nearly frozen, and as soon as possible I built a fire. My nose was frost-bitten before I knew it. I shot a ptarmigan and two redpolls before returning.

Chenetto, one of our native neighbors, trapped a big gray wolf, a white fox and a red fox last week, I have tried to trade for them, but the natives say they need them for clothing; and they very plainly do, for these are the poorest Indians we have met. I regret our opportunity for trading down at Cape Prince of Wales. We expected the same advantage in Kotzebue, but are disappointed. One or two of our company keep an eye on special bargains and appropriate them.

Last week a German called at every camp on the Kowak working up a "winter mail route." He had skated up from the mouth of the river, and proposed to take letters down to Cape Blossom for one dollar each. A reindeer team is expected there from St. Michaels in December which will bring in or carry back any mail. He is called "The Flying Dutchman."

Another man from up the river came down yesterday on the same business, proposing further to take mail himself to St. Michaels. Some of our Iowa neighbors warned us of him as a possible "crook." He claims to have seven hundred letters promised at one dollar each. One meets all kinds of people in this desolate country, and even the face of a "crook" is not rare.