Lining the Boat
On the way out next morning the hunters were boasting about the number of fine trophies they were going to take home, for all reports indicated plenty of sheep and moose. About that time one of the party remembered we had forgotten to bring salt along for curing the “fine trophies;” then a call was sent out for a meeting to discuss ways and means to procure the necessary salt. At the caucus it was decided to send the packers back to Kenai with a boat, and a halt was called until the following day, when the return of the packers was expected. They arrived in good time with a bushel of coarse salt.
Kenai River is very swift and cannot be ascended in a dory pulled with oars, so the boat must be “lined” along the shore. There is no beach along the river and the shore is almost impassable by foot on account of trees growing at every conceivable angle and hanging over and under the water.
In the morning we started, two natives and two hunters to a boat, the leader with his two-hundred-foot line well in advance, carefully keeping the rope on the river side of all obstructions. Doc selected the position of captain (steersman) of one of the dories. Cheechalker took hold of the rope, but before long he was panting for breath, being quite fleshy and tipping the scales at two hundred pounds. He soon found that carrying his weight on the many ups and downs over fallen timbers, with the washouts along the bank and the alder growing thick at places along the shore, was not a joy ride over a macadamized road in an auto, nor was it conducive to easy respiration. The advantage a man of experience has over the inexperienced individual, in making his way over and under logs and overcoming other difficulties with the least resistance, is wonderful. For instance, experience has taught the veteran that he must not step on a slanting stick, a slime-covered stone, or grass concealing a washout in the bank. He likewise learns to avoid many other little indiscretions that cause heavy falls and bruising of the limbs and body, which will wear out the vitality of the strongest. Before long Cheechalker, who had had several tumbles into the water, had to have assistance to get out. He was soon lagging behind, and ere the first lap of the journey was completed he was begging us to let him get into the boat. Travel was delayed long enough for him to don dry clothing, and when we started he refused to walk any more, saying it was out of the question,—he was completely “tuckered out.” It was then that one of the natives hesitated for some time before he would consent to go on, for it required all the red men’s strength and skill on the line to get the boat along without this additional load of two hundred pounds. Cheechalker, with his red face, looked for all the world like a lobster, so Old Sourdough took pity on him and had a heart-to-heart talk with the natives. His argument was, “Him sick, heap sick,—like turtle, no walk!” This and similar logic was used for a period of about five minutes, whereupon the two natives looked at each other, emitted a few grunts, and started up the river.
At the end of the first day’s work we had made about eight miles and built our camp-fire for the night. Nothing unusual happened that evening, but the inevitable “no-see-ims” and mosquitoes had sufficient time to gather and kept us busy moving at short intervals from place to place, following the smudge smoke. Cheechalker, although naturally sluggish on account of his avoirdupois, was quite active now, first to windward and then to leeward of the smudge, between periods of relief from smoke and “no-see-ims.” Doc complained at frequent intervals about the “pesky critters,” donned his veil, and with hands in his pockets strutted around, restless and impatient.
Mid-day on the Kenai
Old Sourdough, without any modern frills, sat quietly smoking his makeshift pipe, evidently enjoying his smoke, but occasionally disturbed and raising his hand to chase an importunate pest out of his eye or ear.
A fallen spruce furnished boughs for a temporary bed for the tired campers after a day’s lining, pulling, and wading. Each man opened his pack, spread his rubber blanket on the boughs, and one long tarpaulin was laid over all. Then each one lay down wrapped in his blanket, and another tarpaulin was drawn over all four in a row. Thus settled, we enjoyed the sweet but restless sleep of the weary. Toward morning when the ice was forming on the water in the camp pails, there was a tug of war going on most of the time between the two end men for the control of the upper canvas, and as the middle man expressed it later, “it had made three round trips during the night,” for he felt it “sawing its way across” under his nose.