We passed Kokomo Creek and had travelled for about six miles when to our dismay we came to a place where the river was open, as far as we could see it round the bend.
The same dreary programme of Chatanika overflow was repeated. Three journeys were made through the water, which was in some places waist deep and was over half a mile long. At the end of the first trip my partner stayed to light a fire. After we had again succeeded in getting the three sleds high and dry we changed our clothes in front of the fire, and, after knocking the ice off the harness and sleds, we made a forced march to an Indian camp about a mile farther ahead. We stayed here for two days, in order to rest the dogs, as their feet had been badly cut by the ice.
At the end of two days my partner and myself started on alone and, after a hard struggle through water and drifts, succeeded in reaching a cabin known as “Cy’s Place,” which is about thirty miles from Cleary Creek. My partner here threw up the sponge and said he was going back to Fairbanks. I told him that I was not in the habit of turning back, so we finally decided to separate, he to go back to Fairbanks, while I made up my mind to try and reach Circle City, and there wait for some party going to the Chandelar.
A bad wind-storm had arisen during the night, and up-river no signs of a trail could be seen, so I left the dogs at “Cy’s Place” and tied on my snow-shoes. Going ahead I “broke trail” for about six miles, returning at night to Cy’s. Next morning I started off on my lone trip, and soon came to the end of my beaten trail. I walked on ahead, wearing my snow-shoes, and the dogs followed as best they could. Every few yards the nose of the sled would bury itself in a drift, and the dogs would lie down until I turned back and dragged it loose.
After I had covered about nine miles in this way the wind began to blow again. It was getting dark, so I tried to pitch the tent, but found it impossible on account of the wind. The only thing left for me to do was to light a big fire and make myself as comfortable as I could until morning. Fortunately there was a good supply of dry wood handy, and I soon had a big fire under the trees. I laid spruce boughs on the snow, and, having fed myself and the dogs, rolled myself in my robe and slept till morning. Of course I had to replenish the fire two or three times during the night, and each time I awoke I found the dogs lying almost on the top of me for warmth.
Next morning, after a rather cheerless breakfast, I started off again. The dogs seemed reluctant to travel, as though aware of some danger ahead. I intended, if possible, to reach a cabin at the mouth of Faith Creek, which was about twenty miles from my camp. I found the trail very heavy, and the only way I could make any progress was to fasten a rope to the sled, tie the other end round my waist, and pull with the dogs. Time and again the sled would be buried in the drifts; but, notwithstanding this, by about half-past two in the afternoon I had made some fourteen miles. It was just commencing to get dark, and the temperature was about forty degrees below zero. I was hoping to get into Faith Creek before five o’clock, as I had not been bothered with overflows, when, suddenly turning a bend in the river, I saw, straight ahead, a stretch of “glare” ice, which warned me to look out for an overflow. I fully realized my serious position. With the weather so cold I was running a chance of freezing to death if I got wet, for the wood all round seemed to be green, and there was now no partner to help me in case I got stuck.
I walked ahead, with the dogs close at my heels, looking for solid ice. Presently, without warning, there was a loud crack, and myself, dogs, and sled were precipitated into the water. The thing happened so suddenly that almost before I realized what had occurred I found myself standing in four feet of water, with the dogs struggling to keep themselves afloat.
My first thought was for them, so I drew out my hunting knife and cut them loose from the sled. They scrambled out as best they could, dragging themselves to solid ice. I next tried to haul the sled out of the water, but found it impossible, so I cut the ropes, let the load sink under the ice, and pulled out the empty sled. With all my food, clothes, dog-feed, and everything else lost, I managed to flounder through the water with the sled on my shoulder. When I got to solid ice once more I began to reflect upon the serious nature of my position. I was at least six miles from any cabin; from feet to neck I was covered with a solid coat of ice; and when I tried to light a fire the green wood refused to burn and my fingers began to freeze. Owing to the ice upon my clothes, I found it impossible to bend my knees, and I realized that my only chance of salvation lay in reaching Faith Creek, six miles away.
Without wasting any further time, I fastened the dogs to the sled and started off. The wind commenced to blow again, and the trail was completely obliterated. The only thing I could do was to trust to the instinct of Nellie, my leading dog. She struggled on gamely through drifts and snow-banks, and the other dogs and myself followed her. The trail was so bad and my clothes were frozen so stiff that I could only travel at about a mile an hour.
