IN THE ALASKA-YUKON GAMELANDS 



rings in my ears, and while it was not always 

 a pleasant reminder, yet our later contact with 

 the hot cakes and other fixin's took all the early 

 chill away. 



That pent-up anxiety to get away, which had 

 been fermenting in our systems for days, finally 

 found escapement the next afternoon at 2:30, 

 when the packers announced that they were 

 "organized" and ready to start. It seemed that 

 half of McCarthy's 250 souls were congregated 

 around the vacant space, where the horses were 

 packed, to see us depart. The sixteen packs 

 were loaded with about 200 pounds each, or 

 3,200 pounds total. After crossing the little 

 stream in McCarthy's back yard we were soon 

 strung out along the roadway on the hillside that 

 overlooks the town. Soon the little village was 

 lost to view, and automatically the wilderness 

 opened its arms to receive us, holding us fast for 

 the next thirty-nine days. Four miles along a 

 good wagon thorofare led us to the brink of Sour- 

 dough Hill; then five miles over a squashy road 

 landed us at Shorty Gwin's cabin on the Nizina 

 River, our abode for the night. Here we said 

 good-bye to the wagon road, thenceforward de- 

 pending on trails and no-trails, water, ice and 

 river bars for our travel. The sun at this time 

 was warm, the air mellow, and, aside from a 

 slight variation in the foliage, we would hardly 

 have known that we were not traveling along an 

 old New Brunswick tote road. The first "dif- 



36 



