The Greatest Works of Emerson Hough – 19 Books in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Emerson Hough
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week to get to the top, others two weeks, others three, and yet others said it could not be done at all. Some said there was one lake at the portage on the summit, others said there were five. No one could give any clear idea of the country that lay out yonder beyond the dull, brown tundra.
It was a mysterious land, potent with difficulties and possibly alive with dangers. Uncle Dick loved these young companions of his beyond all price, and he knew his own responsibility in undertaking to lead them through. At times he regretted the whole journey as a mad enterprise which never ought to have been taken on. But at length, like any born leader, he pitted the difficulties against the privileges, made his decision; and, having made it, adhered to it.
“We’ll start, boys,” said he, “and start to-morrow.”
Since, therefore, these young travelers did make this dangerous journey which had proved impossible for so many older voyageurs, it may be well to allow Rob to tell in his own fashion the story of their crossing of the Rockies on the old Rat Portage. Rob kept his notes from day to day during the remainder of their stay at Fort McPherson.
“Sunday, July 13th. — Cloudy and overcast. Lucky we got our pictures of the Midnight Sun — this is about the last chance. We have been living at the Mounted Police barracks. The old trader keeps to his own house. Uncle Dick says he was to get us our supplies. We have mended the canoe we brought down on the steamboat. Not very big for four of us. Uncle Dick says he has got two Loucheux Indian boys, Johnny and Willy, to meet us at the mouth of the Rat River and help us to track up that river to the top. Uncle Dick seems uneasy. We told him not to bother about us. The independent trader with a scow of furs is going to try to get across. We ought to beat them over.
“Wednesday, July 16th. — Such fuss and fooling around nobody ever saw. But we’re on our way with at least some supplies. Glad we brought a shot-gun and a fishing-rod. Off at 4.15. At 7.30 reached a creek coming into the Husky River from a chain of lakes. Never saw so many fish in my life as there were of the ‘connies.’ We caught plenty for a day or so. Mosquitoes bad in camp. Rain.
“Friday, July 18th. — Late start, 10.30. At 1.30 made the mouth of the Rat and picked up the two Indians. This famous stream is a deep, narrow creek. Mosquitoes the worst I ever saw. Ate lunch in headnets. Have to write with gloves on. Current sluggish. We still can paddle up-stream. It is at least seventy-five miles, possibly a hundred, to the top.
“At 11.15 thought we were near Destruction City, the old Klondike camp where so many died. Some women wintered here. Must have been an awful bunch of tenderfeet. We are maybe ten to fifteen miles above the mouth of the Rat. Shores sandy and covered with willows. Cooked a pot of beans. We have a few beans, a little tea, some dried fruit, a little flour, and some side-meat for grease. Not much more. Fish are said to be plenty, also plenty of ptarmigan and rabbits farther up. Pretty tired to-night. Have done maybe twenty miles.
“Saturday, July 19th. — Current stiffer. Passed a creek coming from Black Mountains. Shores began to change in the afternoon. Tundra coming down to banks. Began to see rocks on shore — glad to see them after so much mud and willow flats. At 4 p.m. made Destruction City — probably twenty-five miles above the mouth of the Rat. Going slower than we thought, as we hoped to make this yesterday. Caught some big trout, very fine to eat. They take the fly splendidly. At 5 p.m. we laid aside the paddles and had to begin to track. The Indians are patient now, and very useful. Tracking is beastly hard work. You put a collar around your breast and shoulder. We had to walk in the water. Uncle Dick and the Indians and I took turns. John steered pretty well. All got our feet and legs wet a hundred times. Jesse went along shore most of the way. The canoe rode light, and we made pretty good time.
“Sunday, July 20th. — Mosquitoes still with us. Rain lets up. We have been sleeping pretty wet, but don’t mind. Rerigged our tracking-line. Got some pictures. Started at 10.30 and traveled nearly five hours to foot of a bad rapid above a deep pool. Camped on a beach. Made a big fire to dry our clothes. We are wet all the time, all of us. Jesse shot three rabbits. He hunts while we track the boats. We don’t let him get out of sight very far. I saw one lynx to-day. Astonishing how little game we have been seeing on this whole trip in this big wild country. Saw an abandoned Klondike camp. They say they are scattered through all these woods here. Sometimes they have found skeletons since. A boy was lost in here and found dead. Traces of the big Klondike migration now getting scarce. Saw some iron on the beach, and ax marks on trees.
“Monday, July 21st. — Heavy going. Hard strain on all of us. Think this would try the best sort of man if he had heavy supplies along in his boat. We have to hurry or we won’t have enough to eat. Lunch at 2 p.m. Saw the mountains far ahead. A great sight. They seem not more than twenty-five miles. Indian boys very useful, quiet, and patient. One says he paid twenty-five dollars for his hat at the trading-post. It was worth about two dollars in the States. Saw some blazed trees. This was written on one, ‘Colin’s rifle in tent here 25th.’ Don’t know what this meant, but suppose a party had split and some gone ahead, and left word. Gum had grown all over the writing. Saw some more sled irons. Jesse got eight rabbits and two ptarmigan. We make a stew and keep putting more things in it as we travel along.
“Tuesday, July 22d. — We started about 10 o’clock this morning. Take turns on the line, each going as fast and as far as he can, until he gets pretty tired. Saw a coal seam in a cut rock wall on the bank. Mounted a series of heavy rapids all day. At 7 p.m. hit a cañon and had hard work to get up the rapids, for almost a mile. All worn out. Camp 8.30. Jesse plumb fagged out. Everybody wet. We dried our clothes around the fire before we went to bed. Can see how hard this would be for real tenderfeet. Found an old Klondike shack, fallen in, this afternoon, apparently deserted nearly twenty years. Caught some splendid Arctic trout on the fly — the gamest fish we ever saw, and mighty good to eat. They look like sea-trout, although they are a hundred and fifty miles from the sea here. Our camp in a round pocket to-night. The cañon bends sharp to the right. Can see one mountain ahead, but not the big range. John making a map all the time. Stories told us no use this far; things don’t check out.
“Wednesday, July 23d. — Off at 10.30. Much to our joy, have fine tracking nearly all day. Rapids less powerful, and bends wider, and better beaches to walk on. At 6.30 passed a small creek and explored it. Nowhere near summit yet. We thought we logged twelve miles to-day. Probably haven’t averaged half that the other three days. It looks mighty puzzling on ahead. They told us to look out for a sharp, high peak which marked the portage. We can’t figure it out. They told us to look for a river coming from the right. We don’t find one. We seem a long way from the summit. Camp 9.30 on rocky flat. Trout and grayling both for supper. Very fine.
“Thursday, July 24th. — Haven’t slept very well. Everybody getting sore and tired. Don’t think we went over four or five miles all day to-day. Uncle Dick called it ‘unmitigated hell.’ Water icy cold now and very fast and heavy. A great many round, smooth stones in the river, so we can hardly walk. Our shoes are worn out, and we are only wearing double moccasins, so that our feet can hardly stand it. Uncle Dick fell down once and hurt his leg pretty bad. An accident might happen any time. The Indian boys are tired but game. When we asked them how far to the top they said, ‘I dinno,’ which is about all the English they have. Current getting worse and worse, and the bad part is that the water is so shallow that in places it is hard to get even our light canoe through. We have to make crossings, and then there is risk of the boat swinging down and pulling us off our feet. I suppose a fellow would drown with the track-line around him. Mighty hard work. At nine o’clock the two Indian boys all in, and had to stop. At ten I went up with Uncle Dick to explore. A river came from the right, so we thought this was the junction of which they told us at McPherson. Went back and got the rest and camped here about midnight. Tundra under the trees. Couldn’t drive tent-pegs for ice. A bad camp. Everybody tired.
“Here we found the Summit Tree, not far from the beach. It says: ‘Summit Tree. Please register.’ Many names under date of 1898. Couldn’t read all of them. A grizzly had registered on this tree, too — scraped the bark off high up. Some names we saw were Watt, Goldheim, Marks, Jones, etc. As is the custom, we cut our names in, too, with the date, so that others might see them. We slashed down the brush to the water so that any others coming in