Wrangell Island 



air on easy wing, are brought into striking relief; and 

 every stroke of the paddles of Indian hunters in their 

 canoes is told by a quick, glancing flash. Bird choirs 

 in the grove are scarce heard as they sweeten the 

 brooding stillness; and the sky, land, and water meet 

 and blend in one inseparable scene of enchantment. 

 Then comes the sunset with its purple and gold, not a 

 narrow arch on the horizon, but oftentimes filling all 

 the sky. The level cloud-bars usually present are 

 fired on the edges, and the spaces of clear sky between 

 them are greenish-yellow or pale amber, while the 

 orderly flocks of small overlapping clouds, often seen 

 higher up, are mostly touched with crimson like the 

 out-leaning sprays of maple-groves in the beginning 

 of an Eastern Indian Summer. Soft, mellow purple 

 flushes the sky to the zenith and fills the air, fairly 

 steeping and transfiguring the islands and making all 

 the water look like wine. After the sun goes down, the 

 glowing gold vanishes, but because it descends on a 

 curve nearly in the same plane with the horizon, the 

 glowing portion of the display lasts much longer than 

 in more southern latitudes, while the upper colors with 

 gradually lessening intensity of tone sweep around to 

 the north, gradually increase to the eastward, and 

 unite with those of the morning. 



The most extravagantly colored of all the sunsets I 

 have yet seen in Alaska was one I enjoyed on the voy- 

 age from Portland to Wrangell, when we were in the 

 midst of one of the most thickly islanded parts of the 

 Alexander Archipelago. The day had been showery, 

 but late in the afternoon the clouds melted away from 



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