CHAPTER II 



" Have you gazed on naked grandeur, where there's noth- 

 ing else to gaze on, 



Set pieces and drop-curtain scenes galore, 



Big mountains heaved to heaven, which the binding sun- 

 set blazon, 



Black canyons where the rapids rip and roar?'* 



To the hunter of big game the long journey by 

 train or boat to the jumping-off place on the edge 

 of the game ranges is ordinarily an unmitigated 

 bore, endurable only by reason of the thought of 

 the ultimate goal. It is, however, otherwise on a 

 journey to the Yukon: time passes rapidly, every 

 moment is one of interest, and the scenic beauties of 

 the journey outrun one's most vivid imagination. 



On the 29th of July, laden with guns, ammunition, 

 camera, sleeping robes, and countless other items of 

 equipment, we set sail from Seattle by a large and 

 comfortable ocean-going steamer bound for the 

 Golden North by way of the Inland Passage, a run 

 of about one thousand miles through the most won- 

 derful inland ocean in the world, where only at three 

 points and then only for a few hours is the traveler 

 subjected to even the possibilities of discomfort 

 from sailing a tempestuous sea. 



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