Gold Hunting in Alaska

by Joseph Grinnell

[A] Pie of fish liver.

This is by no means the whole of the poem, but it is enough to intimate its character. It is Christmas and we are ice-bound. The day of all the days in a man's life, when he would naturally be blue, has been mutually cheered by those who, but for this digression, would have suffered under the circumstances. The feast lasted for two hours, and was followed by songs and instrumental music. Cox and I were waiters, Harry Reynolds served and C. C. cooked. After the banquet we four were waited on by four of the Hanson boys, who took everything into their own hands. Normandin established himself as cook and Joe Jury as head waiter, with Hays and Jack Messing under his charge. They made a combination so witty and droll in everything they did that we could scarcely eat for a time. We finally succeeded all too well for our subsequent comfort. Fun and frolic and candies and nuts occupied attention for an hour, the party at last breaking up with the singing of several church hymns.

On Saturday before Christmas the natives were all gathered in, as well as the whites, and we served the former a "big feed," afterwards exhibiting a brilliant Christmas tree and the venerable Santa Claus. Everyone took part in contributing toys and so forth to the children. There were dolls, tops, whistles, jumping-jacks, cooky people, nuts, candy, etc. It would take a whole note book to describe this part of the Christmas festivities on the Kowak—how the old people awkwardly tried to use knives and forks in eating, and how Santa Claus was greeted, and the wooden dolls, and all the rest. Some of the dolls fell to our boys. I am sure they reminded us of home. After the tree the natives danced, the girls in a graceful manner, and the boys representing fights or something of the kind, all the while being accompanied by a beating of tin cans, stamping and monotonous singing. There were thirty Indians and as many white men present.

At High Noon.

Jan. 7, 1899.—Last week we were surprised by what we took at first for an Arctic apparition. Uncle S., whom everyone had given up for dead, arrived, accompanied by the missionaries from Cape Blossom. Mr. and Mrs. Samms. They had come up with dog sledges. Uncle S. had brought mail from St. Michaels, and the load was very heavy, there being two hundred and fifty pounds of mail alone. He had but nine dogs, and left most of the mail at Kotzebue Camp, where the snow was too deep to travel further with it. He and Mr. and Mrs. Samms pushed on up here, and, as all were pretty tired, several of the boys volunteered to go down to the Kotzebue Camp, which is sixty miles below us, for the mail and other sled. I was a volunteer, along with several from the Hanson Camp as well as of this, as we were all anxious to get the delayed mail. But a few hours later, when we began to realize what a hard trip it would be, everyone backed down until only Cox and I were left. These boys stood on the burning deck, and made believe they didn't care, especially as that brave little missionary woman had just made a trip over the same road of more than two hundred miles and on foot.

That same day Joe Cogan and Sam Colclough came along on their way to the Allashook. They had a team of eight dogs, but, after inquiring of all the natives, they found they could obtain no more dog's food, nor is there any along the river above here. So as they were going to start back down the next day. Cox and I decided to go with them. I did not relish the anticipation of the trip at all, and, now that it is over, I must say that it is the hardest journey I ever hope to make. We returned last night, having been on foot for seven days, making one hundred and twenty miles of very, very hard walking.

We had five dogs from here; these, with Cogan's, made thirteen. We loaded our blankets and clothing on Cogan's sled and hitched up the thirteen dogs to it in a line. The sled was a very heavy one and the load resembled it. It went all right until we got on some sand-bars about a mile below the Hanson Camp, and there our trouble began. The snow was light and the heavy runners cut through to the gravel beneath, making hard pulling. We were trying our best to get over when the sled struck a rock, and, in dragging it off, two of the standards broke off at the runner. Of course we had to return, leaving the load cached on the trail. At the Hanson Camp we got some wire and necessary tools, and by this time it was afternoon. The San Jose crew of the Hanson Camp must have us stop for dinner, and it was a fine one, too, with the immediate future ahead of us. Had we not been thus refreshed. I do not think we could have made the Jesse Lou Camp that night. Colclough declared our bad luck was all on account of the dogs, thirteen in number, so we borrowed two more and also another sled. The dogs pull much better in small teams and we now made good time. They carry their bushy tails curled up gracefully over their backs, and trot along the trail with ears erect and pointed forward, the very picture of lively animation. It was three o'clock by the time we got our second start and darkness was soon upon us. Besides, it was cloudy, with no moon, and snow was falling. Light snow had fallen to the depth of four or five inches, obscuring the old trail so that we soon lost it. And then our fun began. It is twelve miles from the Hanson to the Jesse Lou Camp, and it was not until ten o'clock that we came around the bluff at the latter camp. The snow-covered river bed was a uniform blank whiteness, bordered by the dark line of willows and spruces, and whoever was in the lead had nothing to guide him but kept as near as he could between the banks.

Occasionally the sleds would meet and grapple with snags and rocks or sand-bars with little snow on them, and then we would have to strike off at right angles. Just before we reached our destination for the night, we got into a large field of broken ice in which we floundered about for half an hour. The ice was in plates or narrow strips an inch or less in thickness, all up on edge, jammed thus when the river had first frozen over. These sharp plates mostly leaned obliquely up stream and stuck out of the snow as high as two feet, with gaps and holes between. We had a dreadful time. Our sled tipped over and the dogs dragged it on its side for several yards before we could stop them and fix the pack again. And then our shins! We could not see a thing, and sometimes a step would be down into a hole and the next step on top of a sharp edge of ice. If I fell down once I did twenty times. Cox had never worn muckluks before, and it was particularly hard on his feet. By the time we got to camp we were tired enough to lie down anywhere, whether we froze to death or not.

We were warmly welcomed at the first of the three Jesse Lou cabins which we struck, and they got us a hot supper and fixed our beds in true Kowak hospitality. It was New Year's Eve. 1899, before we got to bed.