CHAPTER XVII 



IN CAMP AT GLACIER BAY 



I LEFT San Francisco for Glacier Bay on the 

 steamer City of Pueblo, June 14, 1890, at 10 

 A.M., this being my third trip to southeastern Alaska 

 and fourth to Alaska, including northern and western 

 Alaska as far as Unalaska and Pt. Barrow and the 

 northeastern coast of Siberia. The bar at the Golden 

 Gate was smooth, the weather cool and pleasant. 

 The redwoods in sheltered coves approach the shore 

 closely, their dwarfed and shorn tops appearing here 

 and there in ravines along the coast up to Oregon. 

 The wind-swept hills, beaten with scud, are of course 

 bare of trees. Along the Oregon and Washington 

 coast the trees get nearer the sea, for spruce and con- 

 torted pine endure the briny winds better than the 

 redwoods. We took the inside passage between the 

 shore and Race Rocks, a long range of islets on which 

 many a good ship has been wrecked. The breakers 

 from the deep Pacific, driven by the gale, made a 

 glorious display of foam on the bald islet rocks, send- 

 ing spray over the tops of some of them a hundred 

 feet high or more in sublime, curving, jagged-edged 

 and flame-shaped sheets. The gestures of these up- 

 springing, purple-tinged waves as they dashed and 

 broke were sublime and serene, combining displays 

 of graceful beauty of motion and form with tremen- 

 dous power — a truly glorious show. I noticed sev- 



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