The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 
for I remember that as I hung on to the lee 
rigging, the seas, after hitting the boat, rose high 
in the air, nearly knocking me down, and the 
water that fell on my bare head parted my hair. 
I had no intention of remaining where I was, as 
a pounding such as we were experiencing would 
soon break up any craft, and therefore let my- 
self down over the side nearest the land, hanging 
on like grim death to the rail. I could touch 
the beach, but the under-tow took me off my 
feet every time the waves receded. I then 
climbed on board again and got hold of a long 
sweep or oar, which at the first favourable op- 
portunity I used as a vaulting pole, Janding im 
quite shallow water. I was in a pitiable state, 
wet through to the skin, and the night as dark 
as pitch. I had no idea how far it was back 
to Tyonak, but I scrambled along that rocky 
beach until I came to an opening in the cliff. 
Here I found an Indian shack, the inhabitants 
of which I knocked up, and persuaded an old 
squaw to make me a cup of tea, which she kindly 
did, but of which I had to partake without milk 
or sugar. This warmed me up, and I then set 
out to walk the twelve miles, as it turned out, 
to Tyonak. What a night, and how I blessed 
those two men! That was the cruellest walk I 
ever undertook, for I had to wade streams, 
stumble over rocks, fall down and get up so 
often that I somehow did these things auto- 
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