My guide was a man who had spent his early life on the plains as a cow-puncher and trapper. One day he told me that he and a friend left their mountain camp to sell their winter’s catch. It was getting less and less each year because of the slow but sure disappearance of wild life, as the white hunters and trappers increased and the demand for furs grew. He was in love with a daughter of the plains and had returned in the spring with the results of his winter’s work, intending to lay his all at the feet of his lady love. The season had been against him in his search for furs. The heavy snows had kept the fox and lynx from making extensive forages from their dens, and the low temperature before the snow came froze the creeks so solid that the mink, otter, and beaver were forced to remain indoors the greater part of the time. The winter had been long and severe, the catch was poor, and he left his traps late in the spring when the pelts were beginning to look hairless. Thus he left his occupation in the solitude of the wilds with a heavy heart, for the previous fall when he bade adieu to his fair fiancée, full of hope and expectation, with the promise of a large yield, he was sure of sufficient funds to purchase a meager home. When he reached the frontier town he could not muster up courage enough to see her, but disposed of his stock, sold his outfit and all his belongings, and made a bee-line for California; thence he took the first steamer for the Yukon. About this time a strike was made at Nome and hundreds of gold seekers had gathered. There was a great demand for fresh meat, so he conceived the idea of constructing a raft in the upper waters, loading it with moose meat, and then floating the flat to Nome and getting rich quick. About the time he was ready to start with a full load, Congress passed an act making it unlawful to sell or have in possession any wild game. On his way down he was stopped at the Government fort, put under arrest, and his load confiscated. He argued his own case well, for he got off without imprisonment. After spending several years there he returned to Seattle, and sent for his little girl from Montana; they were united for better or worse, and together they left Seattle and landed on the Alaskan Peninsula, where they spent three years hunting and trapping.
I visited their clean, tidy home in Seattle, was very much delighted, and spent many pleasant hours listening to the wife’s stories of her experiences. Among other things she said: “My husband shot during the three years over one hundred of the big brown bear for the hides. My part was to assist him with the skinning and do the general housework. On one occasion he had shot a big bear and had placed his gun a short distance away while he proceeded to skin the animal. About the time the steel entered the skin the bear jumped up, uttered a hair-raising growl, and as I ran away, Grant grabbed his gun and finished the bear. I tell you that was exciting. For a whole year we did not see a soul at camp, and when we wanted provisions, Grant would make a trip across Akuton Pass to Unalaska to do the buying. One day he left me in the morning with a large Malamuth dog for my sole companion, saying he would return on the morrow. When the morrow dawned it brought with it one of the worst storms that had swept the coast for years, so bad that even one of the large steamers could not live it out, and was destroyed on the rocks nearby. The storm kept up for four days, and just imagine me alone during those four long, weary days, wondering if Grant had been lost, and what I would do if such were the case.
“The dawning of the fifth day found me looking in the direction of Unalaska, hoping and praying that he might return safely. A little black speck in the blue distance caught my eye. At first I thought it was a bird skimming over the water, but as I looked again and again it seemed to float on the surface. My spirits rose, and the longer I looked the more certain I was that it was the little boat. Oh! what was my joy as the tiny object increased in size as it advanced nearer and nearer until I recognized the little dory and the frantic waving of hat and hands of Grant as he approached closer and closer! The climax came when I recognized his whoop, as he saw me standing on the beach with arms open to receive him, and woman-like, I proceeded to swoon away.
“The very next trip I determined to go with him. We set sail in our little schooner with a strong fair wind, but before long a fierce gale struck us and was carrying us toward sure destruction on the reef, where the angry sea would have made kindling wood of our frail craft. We cast the anchor, but it dragged, dragged, and would not take hold, and all the while we were drifting nearer and nearer the reef. Grant had given up all hope, and said: ‘Mollie, dear, it’s all up! We’re lost!' I encouraged him, saying that there was still hope, when, much to our relief, the anchor took hold and the bow turned to windward on the very verge of destruction. It held fast all night. As the dawn began to appear the wind shifted, and hoisting our little sail we tacked back and forth to Unalaska. We started on our return trip, but luck was against us; we were blown far out to sea, and for four long days and nights we drifted, we knew not where. Almost the entire time Grant had his head up through the hatchway, around his neck a canvas spread over the hatchway, to keep the breakers from filling the boat, and many, many times I cheered him with a cup of strong tea. Grant had given up all hope of reaching land, when gradually the wind shifted, blew from the opposite direction, and took us straight to shore.”
On one of their hunting trips to Knight’s Island, Grant prospected a little on the side and staked a copper claim which “panned out” very well, but which eventually cost the life of a partner, who was caught in a snow slide the following spring.
I bade her good-bye as we left Seattle, when she said: “Oh! how I long to return to Alaska! Before I went there I was a very delicate girl and had very poor health; in fact, the opinion of the family physician was that I did not have long to live; but roughing it in the open air seemed to be a tonic and built me right up. Is it any wonder I love Alaska and long for its wild free life?”
Kodiak