Читать книгу Trails and Tramps in Alaska and Newfoundland - William S. Thomas - Страница 6

Father Duncan

“Father” Duncan relates that more than half a century ago, when a young man of twenty-five, he was living in England. Upon his ordination as a minister of the Established Church, Alaska was assigned him as the field of his future life-work. His passage was paid and he arrived at Victoria after a nine-months trip. The old man was very much agitated in relating his early experience. On reaching Victoria, he of course desired to enter at once upon his active duties, but the head official of the town and the captain of the boat used every means in their power to persuade him from going among the Indians, urging that they were bloodthirsty savages and would surely kill him. He told them that he was assigned to the field by the Board and could not think of changing his plan without an order from his superiors, to procure which would require at least two years. He must get to his labor of love right away. However, he made one request of the officer in charge of the fort, and it was this: he would like to spend about nine months with them in the stockade, and wished they would send for the brightest young man of the most powerful tribe, so that he might learn the language before going among the savages. They granted his request, and in nine months he was ready to deliver his first sermon.

Metlakatla

Guest House

The Indians were divided into various tribes, each at war with the other. He thought if he could succeed in getting the chiefs together and could tell them the Word of God in their own language, he would more readily win their confidence and esteem. So he requested his interpreter to call together all the chiefs to one central point, where he would deliver his first sermon. “But oh!” he said, “when I saw before me the assembled braves, decorated in all the colors of the rainbow, my courage left me, and turning to my teacher, I begged of him to deliver the message I had so carefully prepared to the gathered tribesmen. But he positively refused, and told me his intrusion might cause a war, for the tribes were very jealous of the power and influence of their neighbors. Then I took courage and when I had spoken, oh! what an effect it had upon them! Bodies were rigid and eyes seemed as though they would pierce me through and through. The results were striking. They gathered around in little groups, earnestly discussing the truths made known to them and wondering who could be and whence came this strange white man who spoke their own tongue.

“Father” Duncan’s Church

“From that day I became absorbed in my work. For thirty years I labored among them at Old Metlakatla, when one day I was told that the natives did not own the land and that the title was vested in the Queen of England. The Indians could not understand how a sovereign whom they had never seen could own the land over which they and their ancestors had roamed for centuries, fishing, hunting, and trapping.

Where the Indians Roamed

Street Scene in Metlakatla

“I went down to Vancouver to examine into the matter, and the Premier and Attorney-General advised me that such was the case. I was fearful lest when the Indians learned this fact they would go on the war-path and kill every white man in the country. I wrote a long letter to them explaining conditions and saying that I would be back home to Old Metlakatla as soon as I could. Shortly afterwards, much to my surprise, a committee came to Vancouver to confer with me. When I saw them I was greatly excited for fear they had decided upon war. When I inquired of them what had been done at the meeting, they refused to tell me, so that I was considerably worried over the matter. Although it was late in the evening, I went immediately to the Attorney-General’s home to advise him of the situation. I told him I would give him all the information I had that evening, but to-morrow, after I had learned the action taken, I could not divulge a single word. I did not sleep much that night, and in the morning, when I met the committee, imagine my relief when they told me they had decided to leave English territory and seek a new home under the Stars and Stripes. Shortly after that I went to Washington to arrange matters, if possible, for a new location. I finally succeeded; the United States Government gave Annette Island to my people for their home, and here we have built the new Metlakatla.”

Metlakatla Belles

“Father” Duncan does not believe in educating the Indian children as they are taught at Carlisle and similar institutions. Once while he was visiting Carlisle at Commencement time, the orator of the day advised a graduating class to go out among the white people and do as the whites did. Speaking of the occasion, he remarked: “I thought as I listened, ‘Oh, what a mistake for them to leave their fathers and mothers, now too old to work, and become worthless and idle, unfitted for the duties of life!’” With deep emotion the old man pointed across the woods toward the cemetery, and said: “Over yonder lie the remains of about thirty young men, the pick of their tribe, who attended such schools, adopted the white man’s mode of living, and contracted tuberculosis, to which they fall ready victims. They are by nature so constituted that they require outdoor life and outdoor exercise.”

While “Father” Duncan was talking, the Secretary of the Interior came out of the Town Hall, where he had been holding a conference with the Town Council, and he and “Father” Duncan walked down the boardwalk toward the cannery and from there to the boat. As the steamer was about to depart, the passengers gave three rousing cheers for the grand old man who had spent fifty-five years of useful life among these simple children of nature. Scarcely had the echo of the last cheer resounded from the hills about the bay, when, as the steamer left the wharf, the Indians gave three mightier cheers for the Secretary and another three for Governor Clark.

Indians Cheering the Secretary

About midnight of the third day the fog-horn began to blow, repeating the blast every ten minutes or more, and the engine bells tinkled, tinkled all through the night. Sleep being out of the question, we were up early the next morning, and to our great surprise were informed by the pilot that the Wizard of the Northern Sea had been caught in the fog and had traveled scarcely a mile; in fact, we were obliged to return from the Narrows and wait for the fog to lift. As the old pilot expressed it: “Great Golly! it was a bad night, without a place to throw the anchor and the current running miles an hour.” The old sea-dog had a fine face, carved with stern lines. As he related with his Danish accent the stories of how two men-of-war and several other vessels had met their doom in those waters, hundreds on board going down, the little group was all attention. Even as he talked, he pointed out the partly concealed rocks where the men-of-war had met their fate, and over which the water now broke in innocent-looking ripples.

After thirteen hours waiting for flood tide and the lifting of the fog, we steamed slowly through Wrangel Narrows. What a sight as the sun dispelled the fog! I have seen at night in a puddling mill a ball of molten metal on its way from the furnace to the “squeezers” and, when “soused” with water, emitting a blue flame and vapor. The sun at Wrangel Narrows was such a ball of molten metal, while the fog clinging to the leeward side of the mountain peaks was the vapor, and the peaks and crags with heads towering far above the clouds were the stacks and beams of a monster mill. Occasionally as we glide along, aquatic birds soar through the air in search of their morning meal; blackfish sport in the water, their fins cutting the surface as they disappear into the depths; and now a little snipe, flying around and around, trying to alight on the vessel, causes a stir among the passengers. A short distance away appears the head of a seal, evidently in search of its prey, and the leaping fish tell the rest of the story. How many things appeal to the lover of nature!

On account of the swift current and concealed rocks, the Narrows can be navigated with safety only in daylight, and I learned that the policy issued by marine insurance companies contains a clause under which no recovery can be had in event of accident to a steamer while passing through the Narrows by night.

Here and there lay an old hull cast high and dry on the rocks, after being tossed and pitched about in the powerful currents until it was battered and broken out of all resemblance to a boat. The old Portland was pointed out in the distance, not yet a complete wreck, her mast erect, hull submerged, and the breakers booming and splashing over her. A feeling of sadness came over at least one of the party at the pleasant recollections of a former hunting trip made on the Portland with the big-hearted and greatly beloved Captain Moore, who has since passed over the Great Divide.

Totems at Sitka

Indian War Canoe

Wrangel, the next port of entry, was reached in due time. To the tourists the most noteworthy objects are the totem-poles. Indian totem-poles are erected in even the smallest Indian settlements along the coast as far north as Sitka. Visitors are always interested in their picturesque carving. All kinds of grotesque figures of birds, animals, and fish are cut into the smooth surface of trees after the bark is removed. Contrary to what seems to be a very general belief, the natives do not worship totem-poles as idols, but regard them as a sort of family register. When a great event takes place, in order that it may be commemorated, they erect a totem; a successful hunter in the tribe becomes well known for his deeds of valor,—straightway he selects a family crest and up goes his totem, tinted with all the colors of the rainbow. Sometimes the poles illustrate legends handed down from generation to generation,—the stories and traditions of this simple-minded people. Ages ago, according to “Father” Duncan, the Indians adopted totems or crests to distinguish the social clans into which the race is said to be divided, and each clan is represented symbolically by some character, such as the finback whale, the grizzly bear, the frog, the eagle, etc. All Indian children take the crest of their mother and they do not regard the members of their father’s family as relatives. Therefore a man’s heir or his successor is not his own son, but his sister’s son. Not often can an Indian be persuaded to rehearse to a stranger the story represented by the carvings on a pole. Here is a legend which is told of one totem-pole: A very long time ago an old chief with his wife and two small children pitched his wigwam at the mouth of a stream when the salmon were running to spawn. The old squaw, in order to get some spruce boughs with which to gather salmon eggs, pushed her bidarka, or sealskin boat, into the water, and telling her two little papooses to get into the boat, paddled them across the stream. As she pulled the bidarka up on the other shore she instructed the children to remain in the boat till she returned. She came back in a short time with her load, only to discover that the children were gone. Many times she called to them, but always they answered to her from the woods with the voices of crows, and when she tried to follow them they would keep calling to her from some other direction. She returned to the boat again, gave up the children for lost, and going back to the wigwam reported to the chief that an old white trapper with a big beard had carried away the two little children. To commemorate this event they had a totem-pole carved to show the beard of the white trapper, and frequently point it out as an example to refractory children.

Our next stop was at Petersburg, a typical Alaskan town, with its cannery, saw-mill, and myriads of herring gulls on the wing and on the water. The old totem-poles which had stood for many, many years, worn almost smooth by the constant beating of the elements, excited a great deal of curiosity, and made one wish for some occult power wherewith to read the mysteries of the past. At one pole the party, consisting of several doctors, was much absorbed, and after considerable study deciphered the figure of an old witch doctor carved on the top and below it what seemed to be a squaw, which they interpreted as very suggestive of the operation of laparotomy.

Petersburg

A few miles from Petersburg we saw the first ice floe with its deep marine coloring, floating slowly towards the open sea. Two days and nights of continual rain were very oppressive and trying on sociability, but when the welcome sun reappeared, how enjoyable was the contrast! The mountain-sides in the foreground, clad with verdure from the base half way to the snowy summit, had for a background the arched dome of the heavens, filled with vari-colored clouds. Here and there streams of crystal water coursed down the mountain-side, whence each took a final leap over the rocks into the boiling and seething maelstrom, throwing spray in every direction.

Streams of Crystal Water

An interesting visit was had to the Treadwell mine, where the voice of man could not be heard above the noise of the many stamp mills pounding away, crushing the low-grade ores. At six o’clock the day shift is leaving the mines and the night force entering. As the up cage discharges its load of human freight the down cage is ready, packed so tightly that it would be almost impossible for a passenger to turn sideways. Down into the perpendicular shaft for several hundred feet the miners descended, and from there they scattered through the entries drifted out underneath the bay, where the best paying rock is to be found.

Juneau, the capital of Alaska, almost directly across from the mines, was our next stopping-place. The deck hands, at the command of the first officer, threw out the gang-plank. Before it was rightly adjusted, the crowd was waiting eagerly to get ashore. The dock was wet and slippery, for it was raining as usual, the low-hanging clouds shutting out the view of the snow-covered mountain-tops in the background. All hunters in the party made straightway for the Governor’s office to secure licenses at fifty dollars apiece, which entitled each one to shoot two bull moose. But in order that a trophy may be brought out of Alaska, the Act of Congress makes it obligatory to pay an additional fee of one hundred and fifty dollars. It seems to me absurd to permit the killing of moose and to encourage leaving the trophies where they fall. A subsequent experience on the Kenai River bore out this conclusion very forcibly. On the river we came across a party of hunters from Texas who had killed a very large moose having a noble spread of horn. The body was left to rot on the shore. One of our party who did not care to shoot would gladly have taken the trophy home to decorate his den, but the one hundred and fifty dollars was strictly prohibitory. I am satisfied this party killed several moose and left them because the trophies would not justify the additional cost of bringing them out.

We spent several hours in Juneau sending cablegrams and watching a black bear chained in the middle of the main street. He was walking around and around, as though guarding the entrance to the town. Every person passing kept a safe distance, but occasionally a visitor unawares approached too near and afforded fun for the onlookers when he made a desperate get-away.

Lighthouse near Dixon’s Entrance

Sitka

Leaving Juneau the boat turned south quite a distance in order to reach Sitka. Some time was lost waiting for high tide before we could get through the Narrows, full tide being about eleven o’clock P.M. The night was very dark and the fog thick, making it difficult to keep the boat in the channel. As the old Dane afterwards said, we could keep our course only by noting the echo of the fog-horn as it reverberated among the distant hills; but with great skill we were taken safely through, and when morning dawned clear and bright, we found we were fast approaching Sitka. Many interesting things were to be seen from the deck as we glided over the water. The reflection of the mountains was beautiful and one could scarcely distinguish the real shore line. Here and there an old bald eagle (Haliætus leucocephalus) stood sentinel on some dead tree-top, while the great blue heron (Ardea herodias) waded along the edge of the water in search of something to eat. Thus we were entertained for hours as we neared Sitka. About noon the shrill blast of the whistle reminded us that the town was in sight. Just as soon as the gang-plank was lowered there was a rush for shore, and every person was on his way to see the sights of Sitka.

Priests of the Greek Church at Sitka

The town was founded in 1799 by Governor Baranoff, a Russian explorer, and is beautifully situated on Baranoff Island. The old Russian Greek church stood there just as it did a hundred years before, with the exception of a new coat of paint, and the priests were in their church garb as of yore. Tourists always visit the old church to see the magnificent Madonna and other paintings brought over from Russia in the last century. On the main street stands the old log-cabin erected many years ago by the Hudson Bay Company and used as a trading post. The Government has set aside a reservation for a public park, and many totem-poles have been set up all along the roadway. Indian squaws were squatted on the dock selling their little trinkets, such as miniature totem-poles, sealskin moccasins, and vases carved in many forms.

While leaving Sitka the picturesque snow-crowned Mount Edgecumbe serrated the horizon on the left, and on the right the sky-line was much the same. Both shores were advancing nearer and nearer, and it looked as though we were in a cul-de-sac. Presently we passed through Icy Straits, so named because of the many icebergs which, broken from a neighboring glacier, find their way hither.

Fairweather Range

As we reached the open ocean, “Gony,” as the sailors call the black-footed albatross (Diomedea nigripes), followed in the wake of the steamer, porpoise raced with us, rushing and dodging alongside the boat, occasionally turning their silver bellies skyward and flaunting their tails to show how easy it was for them to keep up with us. The race continued at intervals for more than an hour before they disappeared, and by that time the long swells of the water rocking the steamer had taken effect and many of the passengers disappeared from the decks. Many miles to the right the purple foothills of the Fairweather range could be seen. Muir Glacier glittering in the distance added to the fascination of the scenery. Along the coast wild strawberries, with their delicate flowers, their fruit sought alike by man, beast, and fowl, grew very abundantly. The weather was just fine and the conditions right (something unusual in this neighborhood) to see the great Mount St. Elias, at least a hundred and fifty miles due north, and her English cousin, Mount St. Logan, farther off across the border line. The Fairweather range extends for many miles along the coast. The white ice fields glitter in the sunshine and at sunset a halo of many colors hangs over the mountains.

Upper Ice Fields

The Author Looking into a Crevasse

Alaska seems to be a chosen land for glaciers. The warm Japan stream washes the coast line, the topography of which is well adapted to fashion glaciers out of the heavy snowfall precipitated by the cooling of the humid air as it strikes the mountains. When the lofty summits and surrounding fields have accumulated more snow than they are able to retain, it gradually advances toward the valleys. When it leaves the summit it is soft and flaky, but alternate thawing and freezing gradually change its condition into a granulated form of ice. The pressure of the great body of snow above, the change of the atmospheric conditions, assisted by gravity, are the causes which enter into the formation of the solid glacier ice. These conditions may be increased or diminished by earthquakes and mild winters. Like a great river it advances toward the mouth of the valley, and as the immense body of ice moves downward, it brings with it by erosion huge pieces of rock, earth, and trees. This debris thrown upon the ice is called moraine, and where the moraine gathers the thickest it protects the ice. When the hot summer sun thaws the unprotected ice, tiny streamlets flow from here and there. These gradually increase in number and size, and as they grow larger and larger cut their way down into the ice, forming deep crevasses, and finally reach bedrock. The interior color of the crevasses is a deep blue and this changes to a light blue at the outer edge where exposed to light. Standing on the brink one can throw a huge boulder into the opening and hear it rumbling for some time before it reaches the bottom. A glacier that is receding slowly is known locally as a dead glacier, and one advancing as a live glacier. However, a live glacier may become a dead one, and vice versa. A dead glacier has frequently readvanced after years of inactivity, carrying with it trees which had grown up in its course. Columbia glacier in Prince William Sound is an example of this type.

A tiny snowflake falls on the mountain-top, is covered in turn by many others, and disappears for many years. Gradually the whole mass, by its own weight, is pushed down into the valley and solidified. Not a ray of light can penetrate through the thick glacier ice; the little snowflake has been completely immured. After years, perhaps centuries, it finally reappears at sea level, with myriads of others of its kind congealed into one solid mass, which breaks off and floats seaward, clothed in beautiful blue. But it is such a cold, heartless beauty, for until melted away the little snowflake is part of a tremendous mass, whose weight and silent progress are a constant and dreaded menace to human life; many a steamer has been sunk by striking an iceberg.

At the head of Yakutat Bay is situated the Indian village of Yakutat. It has its cannery and saw-mill and village church, in which last is a large and very interesting totem carved out of the butt of a tree. I have heard it said that these poles are not found north of Sitka. This one is several hundred miles farther north. There is only the one, and it may have been a trophy or a gift. I was unable to get any account of its past or any interpretation of its symbolic carvings.

Native Women Trading

Before we landed we noticed the natives coming from every possible direction; some in their canoes, others walking, but all loaded down with their trinkets to sell to the passengers on the steamer. When we landed on the dock the women were squatting on the floor, all in a row, displaying their goods. When a kodak was pointed at them they concealed their faces and demanded “two bits” as the price of a shot. There was among them a young mother with her babe whom I was anxious to photograph, but her price was higher and I was required to raise the amount to “eight bits” before she would step out into the sun for a snap-shot. I was afraid to take a time picture for fear she would “shy” before I got it.

Mother and Babe

Playing in the Sand

The old village, up the shore about a mile, was reached by a narrow walk along the coast line. The walk through the sparsely-growing spruce and cottonwood was delightful. Ravens flew about here and there, hoarsely calling as we passed by. The undergrowth consisted principally of berry bushes—salmon-berries, blueberries, and red raspberries—and as we walked along we gathered handfuls of the luscious fruit from each in turn as our taste inclined. When we reached the village with its wide beach—for the tide was out—our attention was attracted toward a couple of the native belles, who were sitting tracing on the sand with their fingers images of fish, birds, and animals. We approached suddenly, cutting off their retreat. Being naturally shy and timid they ceased writing, and when they saw us point the camera toward them, turned their backs. I suggested to my friend that he walk around to the opposite side, take out his kodak as though to photograph them, and when they turned around I would take a snap, which ruse worked admirably.

Native Boys out Gunning

Abandoning the party at this point, I took a stroll through the woods. There I happened upon half a dozen native boys shooting at a mark with guns. They were not aware of my presence until one of the boys standing apart from the others noticed what I was doing. Before he got away, however, I had his image on the film. I walked away a few steps and sat down on a log to put in a new film. When I lifted my head, to my surprise every last one of the little rascals had me covered with his gun. One emphatic sentence from me wilted their timid spirits and they skulked away.

Sunset near St. Elias

The attractive feature of Yakutat is a favorable view of Mt. St. Elias. When we were going up the bay the heavy clouds shrouded the mountain, obstructing our view, and how disappointed were the passengers as the boat steamed on toward the head of the bay, where the nearer peaks would shut off our view of St. Elias, even if other conditions had been favorable! But when we were leaving the harbor the same day the atmospheric conditions were just right to array the scene in all its splendor. The air was filled with low floating clouds fringed with the most brilliant colors from the setting sun, and as the clouds lifted, the purple foothills added splendor and enchantment to the slope that extended its snow-capped peak eighteen thousand feet into the blue concave of the heavens. Up to this time aboard our ship peace, happiness, and sociability reigned supreme, but when the open waters of the Pacific were reached and the “woollies,” as the fierce blasts from the icy ranges are called by the sailors, struck us, tossing the spray over the pitching, rocking, and quivering steamer, sociability disappeared and peace and happiness left the faces of all the passengers, while the pallor of death overspread blooming countenances. Thereupon the fishes became alert and the herring gulls, gracefully soaring in the wake of the steamer, uttered their hungry call of expectation. Surely ’tis an ill wind that blows no good.

Cape St. Elias

The steamer belched forth the smoke from its stack as we moved slowly along the coast toward Katella harbor, the next port of entry. For fifty miles on the right of us could be seen the terminal edge of the famous Malaspina glacier, looking like the white crest of breakers crashing against a rocky coast. Ahead of us appeared Cape St. Elias, one of the most picturesque promontories of Alaska. Its divided point projected a long way into the ocean and the captain gave it a wide berth.

On reaching Controller Bay the good ship anchored in the poor harbor. Presently a boat, hailing from the revenue cutter Tahoma, pulled by eight sturdy seamen dressed in their clean, picturesque suits of blue and white, drew near the side of the steamer, and the officer in charge, tall and erect, a fine specimen of manhood, came up the rope ladder and made straight toward Secretary Fisher. In a short time one of the seamen was on the top deck gesticulating with hat and handkerchief to the cutter in the distance. On the cutter could be seen against the sky-line an ensign going through similar signs in answer to the instructions given. The Secretary and his party left the steamer very quietly without a cheer, and as he arrived on the cutter the booming of the cannon, repeated nineteen times, signaled the reception of the party.

Controller Bay is not a natural harbor and the problem it presents is whether an engineer can construct at a reasonable cost an artificial harbor that will protect vessels from the terrific gales that sweep the coast during the winter months. Engineers differ on this matter; some say that the solution of the problem is a great dike constructed of concrete, and others think that a wall could not be built strong enough to withstand the powerful currents and massive ice floes of Controller Bay, and for this reason it is believed that the only terminal facilities for the Behring coal fields are at Cordova, by water some hundred miles farther north.

At the present time a railroad is being built up the Copper River valley, which is the natural gateway to the great coal and copper deposits of the interior and the rich Tanana Valley. In constructing a railroad up this valley serious difficulties must be overcome. The question of labor is very important. Because of the continual rains and the short open season the highest wages must be paid. To get up the valley, it is necessary to cross the Copper River between two glaciers, and the topography of the country is such that it is a difficult engineering feat to construct a roadbed that will not be carried away by the spring freshets and the glaciers, which are continually changing. Miles and Childs glaciers vary in their movements, at times receding and again advancing, controlled by forces which are not fully understood.

Hinchinbrook Island

Valdez after the Flood

Bruin in a Steel Trap

Leaving Katella we soon pass Cape Hinchinbrook, where several steamers have been cast ashore and wrecked upon the rocky coast. Entering Prince William Sound we find the water smoother and a pleasant run is made to Cordova, the present terminus of the Copper River Railroad. Our next stop was Valdez, with its land-locked harbor. The town is built practically on the moraine of a glacier. Sometimes the channel of a glacier stream changes; in the year 1911 such a change took place and carried away about half of the town. In order to prevent a similar accident in the future, the citizens turned out and constructed a levee of logs, rocks, and sand. Valdez glacier extends down from the summit a distance of twenty miles, the foot being about five miles from the town. During the winter of 1898 gold was first discovered near Center City in the interior. The excitement was great at Valdez, some seven thousand men gathering from all parts of the States to seek their fortunes. So great was the rush for the gold-fields that one continuous procession of prospectors, carrying all kinds of outfits, passed northward over the glacier. The following year many perished on their way out. My guide carried the mail that year, and on one trip found seven men who had frozen to death, having been caught in a storm on the glacier. The whole party were very weak on account of scurvy and unable to reach Valdez. When found, two were lashed to sleds and one was sitting on a piece of ice, his head resting on his hands. On the same trip my guide came upon an old miner frozen to death, still holding to the handle of his dog sleigh, while the dog lay curled up in a ball, still alive and still in the harness.

After spending several days at Valdez, arrangements were made with the captain of the Hammond for a small boat to take us about fifty miles south into Gravenna Bay. Our little skiff was towed behind all day, and at five o’clock in the evening we were informed by the captain that he was afraid to go up the bay any farther for fear of striking a rock. Consequently our camping outfit had to be piled into our dory in a pouring rain, and after the captain gave two gongs, as the pilot shouted, “Great luck, boys!” the tug left us and disappeared around the cape in the distance. And here we were, fifty miles from human habitation, dependent for our return to civilization upon making connections with this same little tug at its next visit a month later.

Prepared for the rain with rubber boots and oilcoats, we pulled towards the head of the bay, before the wind and on a flowing tide, so that our little craft fairly glided over the water. About twilight we pitched camp in a drenching rain. If there is one thing more than another which dampens the enthusiasm for the wild, it is making camp with everything soaked. But by perseverance in due time we were getting our supper, snugly housed in our eight by ten tent, and happier than kings in a royal palace. To the music of the rain I soon fell asleep.

In the morning consciousness was restored by the “quack, quack” of the ducks and the splash of the salmon running to their spawning ground,—the occasional wriggling splash of an old “humpback” who had run up the shore too far and was trying to get back into deeper water, the loud splash of the high jumper, and the faint swish of the thousands on their way to fresh water. After breakfast I donned my hunting outfit and strolled along the beach until I reached the mouth of a small creek which flowed into the bay. I was amazed at the number of humpback salmon (Oncorhynchus gorbuscha) ascending the stream to spawn, some green and fresh from the briny deep, others changed to a dark lead color by contact with the fresh water, and others, struggle-worn, almost with out scales or skin to cover their bodies. They were running upstream by the thousands.

Salmon Running Up Stream to Spawn

Killing Fish with a Club

Gulls Feeding on Salmon

A Good Fisherman

Dogs Fishing for Salmon

There was a flock of red-breasted mergansers (Merganser serrator) on a pool nearby. I crept quietly to the brink, and, hat off, peeped over. After the shot was fired it was interesting to see the flock trying to dive; the fish were so thickly massed that the ducks could not get below the surface of the water. This disturbance caused a rush of the fish and they madly churned the water in their efforts to get away from an imaginary enemy. In shallow riffles the fish were so crowded that it was almost impossible to wade across the stream without being thrown by tramping upon them or tripped by others trying to get away. Closer observation showed them in pairs, rooting their noses into the sand and gravel to make a hole; in this the female deposited the eggs and the male covered them with a milky substance, both turning sideways at the same time and both flapping their tails in covering the spawn. Frequently I could see two males or two females fighting each other, striking with their tails and biting like dogs, trying to get possession of a hole in the sand in which the spawn might be deposited. Looking at the horde all tattered and torn, I could not but admire their pluck and perseverance in ascending the stream over stones and other obstacles, with scarcely enough water to cover half their bodies, in order that the laws of nature might be obeyed and the species propagated. When the tide went out many were caught high and dry on the shore, and became a prey for birds and beasts. Thousands of gulls gathered daily, feeding on the dead fish, and almost invariably picking out the eyes first, these being the choicest morsels, according to their taste. I have frequently come across fish still alive, though robbed of their eyes. Our first method of getting fish was to arm ourselves with clubs, walk into the shallow riffles, select some just fresh from the salt water and hit them with our clubs. We abandoned this method because several were killed before we got one that was fresh. We then tied a halibut hook on the end of a pole and, sitting on a rock, waited until a fresh fish appeared. As we caught sight of him some distance away we would gradually move the hook into position and land him.

It rained for several days and nights, causing the water in the creek to rise very high and run with considerable current. At this time the shore was salmon-colored with eggs uncovered by the swift water. All the fresh streams near camp were so polluted with dead fish that the water could not be used, and we were obliged to go above for some distance to get pure water.

Before leaving Valdez we had taken a little walk out from town, and came across a small stream of pure ice-cold water that had its source in the snow of the mountain. Occasionally could be seen salmon returning to their spawning ground. I have no doubt that before Valdez was built the stream was famous for the annual hordes of fish that returned to spawn (and, as is believed by some, to die), but I was told that the number is getting less and less and now only a very few frequent the stream. While watching them our attention was drawn to a dog jumping into the water and others splashing about, dashing first in one direction and then another, trying to catch the fish. How amusing to see the fish dart between the legs of their would-be captors, out of the shallows and into deeper water! Occasionally the dogs would catch them and bring them to shore. Had we had the dogs with us at Gravenna Bay, what sport we might have had!