Kodiak Island Pinks
The dawn of another day brought a hazy sky and the indications foretold wet weather. True to our expectations it rained the greater portion of the day. In the afternoon it cleared up somewhat and towards evening the sun came out bright. We then visited Gull Island to get a few fresh eggs for breakfast. The Arctic tern (Sterna paradisæa) had a large community on the rocky island. When we approached they hovered over us in great numbers. The kittiwakes (Rissa tridactyla) also had a colony. In many nests on the island, the eggs were blotched and streaked in various shades. They were about the size of an ordinary hen egg, were palatable, and we used quite a number to make pancakes. After photographing several nests with eggs and a few wild flowers that grew very abundantly on the rocks near the water’s edge, we returned to camp, had supper, consisting of eggs, bear steak, etc., after which we retired for the night about ten o’clock, it being still almost daylight, for during June the days are twenty-two hours long.
We again desired to change our camp into the adjoining bay, so we pulled stakes and started for a fifteen-mile trip. The tide was in our favor, but with a head wind we pulled our little dory down to the turning point, where tide and wind helped us on our way.
When we were about half-way up we came upon a camp of Italian fishermen who had just arrived from “Frisco” to fish for salmon during the season’s run. We turned our boat towards shore and landed to meet our neighbors. They were a villainous-looking lot, about two dozen in all, and could speak no English, except the foreman, and we could understand him only with difficulty. We succeeded in letting him know we were anxious to have a few fish for supper, and soon several of the men were making a haul with the seine for our special benefit, so we had all the fish we wanted. After exchanging compliments, our little sail was hoisted, and as the boat sped over the water we waved a good-bye to the “bunch,” although we understood they wanted us to spend the night with them. Before we had gone very far the wind died down to a gentle breeze, and much to our disappointment we had to take down our sail, for it flapped around like a wounded bird, here, there, and everywhere, without wind enough to make it taut. We took the oars about seven o’clock and before long the water became so calm that the snow-capped mountains reflected their peaks on the waters of the bay, seeming to use the smooth surface for a mirror, as they stood majestic in their garments of white. We rode along in silence, hour after hour, past the huge mountains of granite, slate, and sandstone, with here and there a stringer of quartz. I could not but wonder what a force must have been at work to have caused such an upheaval. Beautiful clusters of pink, yellow, and purple flowers were clinging to the perpendicular face of the rocks, and relieved much of the severity of outline. As we advanced toward the head of the bay, the eagles, in their solitude perching here and there on the topmost pinnacles, eyed us with suspicion. Now and again one would leave the cliff, soar round and round overhead until we passed out of sight, doubtless wondering what strange creatures these were. We arrived at the head of the bay about midnight in this land of twilight, and soon had a good wood fire alongside a big cottonwood tree, where with “spuds” and flounders, hard tack and a tin of hot “Old English Breakfast,” we were quite contented. After a corncob pipe and a short story or two, we threw our blankets on the beach and were quickly in the Land of Nod.
The next morning we were up about the time the sun was casting his rays over the eastern snow-capped peaks. What a picture for an artist! If painted true to nature almost any person would say, “Overdrawn, overdrawn!” yet with the deep blue sky for a background, the white mountains in bold relief, pushing their tops into the blue, and the green foothills and the placid waters of the bay in the foreground, how could the scene be overdrawn? In that dawn of morning the flight of ducks to and from the feeding grounds was numerous, the most conspicuous of them all being the harlequin duck (Histrionicus histrionicus) because of the prominent black and white stripes. It builds its nest along the mountain stream which dashes and tosses down the gorge, and when the young are hatched leads them to the sea.
Just as soon as we got a bite to eat, with our rifles and field-glasses we started for our daily hunt. On our way up the mountain a little brown body streaked with black fluttered out from beneath a tuft of grass underneath the pussy willows. Stooping and separating the dry grass, we exposed the four whitish eggs of the white-crowned sparrow (Zonotrichia leucophrys). In about an hour we saw a large bear traveling at a rapid gait—at times running—along the mountain just at the snow-line. We sat down and watched him through the glasses, hoping he would soon find a place to his liking to take a little snooze. After paralleling the entire base of the mountain he passed behind a small group of rocks and emerged on the other side against the snow, where we could see him very plainly as he turned back toward the rocks. We were quite sure he had found a bed that would suit his purpose. We knew if he once lay down he was more than likely to stay for a long nap.
In about twenty minutes we started after Old Bruin in earnest. Into alder and elder we plunged, plodding along just as fast as we could, bringing out the perspiration in beads on our red faces. The sun was very hot and our tramp was difficult,—over rocks, under limbs, using the toes of our guns as alpenstocks, we puffed and blew, going higher and higher. “Oh, how deceiving!” often I thought as we climbed each little knoll, only to find on arriving at the top that our objective point was still in the distance. To be sure, we rested many times before we reached the place. The uncertainty of the wind annoyed us greatly, and often the only way we could tell how it was blowing was by tossing a few crushed leaves into the air.
After two hours’ hard work we arrived at the place best suited for us to get a shot at Mr. Bear, when he should leave the thickest of the alder. We maneuvered around the top a considerable time, found his trail following a ravine up the mountain, and in this way he reached the opening of an extinct crater. At the very time when we were expecting a shot at any minute, he must have been on the other side of the mountain. Wearily we slipped, slid, and tramped our way down. By the time we reached camp, hungry and tired, it was well along in the afternoon. After getting something to eat we took a couple of hours’ nap, and again watched the foothills in the hope of discovering the object of our search, but in vain.