Trails and Tramps in Alaska and Newfoundland

by William S. Thomas

We had several beautiful days; in fact, the middle of the day was too hot to hunt with any comfort. If you had been watching, you might have seen a solitary pair wending their way up along the river flat; one tall and well built in proportion, with a broad-brimmed western hat on his head, the other small in stature, with a small slouch hat set on the back of his head, one carrying a Winchester and the other an Eastman kodak. If you had observed closely, you would have noticed that both hats were constantly turning in a semicircle from side to side, as the eyes were busy scanning every direction, expecting that the quarry would put in an appearance somehow, somewhere; for we had arrived at the conclusion that we would have to work harder in order to get a big specimen of the Kodiak bear. We followed the river valley for ten miles without seeing any fresh signs. About noon we ate our lunch, stretched out in the warm sun, and slept peacefully for several hours, then turned towards camp, hunting on our way back.

Up to this time the bear seemed to live up on the very tops of the mountains and occasionally to come down about the snow-line and again return. We had several wild-goose chases after them, only to discover that they were somewhere else. Now we noticed they were beginning to feed on the grass and come down into the valley. The leaves were pretty well developed by this time. Hunting big bear in the alder is very dangerous sport, for at any minute a big she with her cubs might rise up close by and make a charge. If our guns should catch in the brush, the jig would be all up, for the bear are large and hard to stop at close range. My guide said that not many men will hunt them in this way and told me he had had several narrow escapes himself. On one occasion he dropped a big fellow right at his feet. They vary in size; the largest skin in the picture on page 105 measured eleven by nine feet. They also vary in color from a dark brown to yellow. The specimens I have seen have a tawny crescent just back of the neck.

The natives do not hunt the bear by following them through the brush, and have a wholesome fear of stalking them afoot. I have been told that the only way they will hunt is to follow the coast line in a bidarka, and when the bear come out to feed on the fish along some stream they kill them. My guide, who has had a great deal of experience with the natives of the peninsula, told me that he could sell all the bear intestines to the natives, getting a good price for them. Out of these intestines they make water-proof coats, called kamlaykas. In the early spring they examine the intestines very carefully. They consider that in bear killed as soon as they come out of hibernation the intestines are useless, for they believe the bear retire to their winter quarters in the fall gorged with fish. The fish bones perforate the intestines and it takes several weeks for them to heal enough to make the best water-proof coats.

We worked our way up to the snow-line and hunted until ten o’clock without getting a sight of one, although we trailed a large bear a long way through the grass. They are great tramps and will travel many miles without stopping. Where this one crossed the creek the water was not yet dried on the leaves when we came up. For four days the weather was fine and as it was not necessary to put our tent up, a great deal of time could be saved in this way.

On our wandering about the island, about five o’clock one evening the fishermen’s camp was reached and they treated us royally, gave us a square meal of candle fish, some tobacco, sugar and tea, and sent us on our way rejoicing. We pulled along all day without any incident of much interest. Once two bald eagles soared over our heads, and my guide could not resist the temptation. Up went his rifle and three times in succession the shot brought some feathers out of the wings, while the fourth brought the bird pitching headlong into the bay. At one point we watched an eagle in the air with two crows after him. It was evident the crows had their nest nearby and the eagle had ventured too near. The crows seemed to have the best of the fight, for they would take turns in darting down on their foe, while the eagle seemed to be helpless in the air, for the crows would strike and be away before he could harm them.

Now our thoughts turned homeward, but we realized that it would take some time to pull with oars seventy or eighty miles in a dory to Kodiak. Breaking camp one morning about two o’clock, we tried to get out with the tide, but unfortunately we were caught on the flats and were forced to spend six hours until the tide returned. Being anxious to get home as soon as possible, we were using every effort to gain time, and one little experience we had I shall not forget as long as I live. The wind had been blowing a gale all day, and about nine o’clock in the evening, after making slow progress, we came to a point which would require us either to lie by for the balance of the night, then follow the shore line for about ten miles, or cross directly over a distance of about three miles to the other side of the bay. The wind had died down considerably and was blowing toward us from the other shore; we were anxious to cross and discussed the advisability of trying it, finally deciding that we could do so safely. With both at the oars, the dory loaded to within three or four inches of the water, and the breakers running, we started across and got along fairly well until we were about midway over. We naturally expected the whitecaps would diminish in size and the wind would be going down, when to our dismay the wind rose, the waves grew more boisterous, and about every seventh wave would toss part of its volume clear over us. Occasionally I would ship the oars, grab the tomato can, and bail frantically until the water was almost all out,—then to the oars again to assist in keeping the boat under control. My companion was skillful in handling the boat, and while I was bailing out the craft he had to make desperate efforts to keep the bow cutting the rollers diagonally; but gradually the wind seemed to get the boat out of its safest course, and then I had to take up the oars and help to right her again. To say the least, I realized the predicament we were in. At the time, I had almost given up the idea of reaching the shore in safety, and one who has never had a similar experience cannot understand the feeling of hope that rose within us as we advanced nearer the other side.

While we were still battling with wind and wave, I promised myself that if we reached safety I would never again risk a similar experience, and yet on the following day we pulled the boat fourteen miles across the mouth of another such bay, with the water as smooth as glass all the way over. Knowing the rapidity with which the wind can rise over those treacherous straits and the risk we were taking after the experience of the previous day, neither of us spoke more than half a dozen words during the entire time until we landed safely.

Returning at last to Kodiak, we caught a boat for Valdez, whence we engaged passage on the homeward cruise. Taking the outside route from Valdez to Seattle, we experienced a rough voyage. At the captain’s table were seated about a dozen passengers, all in high spirits in anticipation of reaching home, and thankful that we had not taken passage on the Valentia, the preceding steamer, which was wrecked on the rocks before it got rightly started. One by one the members of the party would fail to put in an appearance on account of seasickness. One day the captain complimented the author on being such a good sailor, but in answer I suggested that he wait a little. I felt it coming on, and sure enough the captain had the table to himself at the very next meal.

One night while lying in my bunk I was aroused from a doze by a shout from the occupant of the under bunk: “There’s a rat in your bed! There’s a rat in your bed!” I looked out to see my informant standing on a chair. In a short time we had a light, and in the bunk we found a Mother Carey’s chick that had been attracted by the light on the boat and entered the room. We caught the little bird and kept it until morning. It seemed not to be disturbed by our attentions, indeed was content to cuddle down in our hands. Its apparent tameness was probably due to the fact that its habits are partly nocturnal.

After three or four stormy days, with the sea running high and breaking in whitecaps over the deck, not a thing to be seen save the sailors and the albatross following in the wake of the steamer, we reached the port of Seattle. The vision and the sensation of the tossing and pitching waters remained with us, and on landing we found that our “sea legs” made walking on terra firma a very awkward process.