28 CRUISE OF THE STEAMER CORWIN. 



we eiitored a rciuh of llio river, solium five Inmdred yanls wide, uliiKist rom^iletoly r-liokod wilh 

 .san(l-l)ars, and altlioiin'h I hail set up raiiji^es foi- the clLaiiiK^l hist year, it Jiad so completely 

 clianged that it was not until 1 (i"cl(M-k that we liually ,i;-i)t thi'ougii. The curreut at this jdace 

 was from five to six knots per hour and increasiui;- with tlie rise of tlu^ river. At tliis ])oiiit 

 and in tlie vicinity of the Jade Mountain the Indians of the river seem to rendezvous for the 

 summer fishing; but on accouidi of tlie ])revailing high wafei- hut littli' win-k has heen done so 

 far in tluit direetion. 



It is diftieuit to des(;ribe each daj^'s advance and a\'oid repiditiou. For hundreds of miles 

 after leaving the delta, with its broken perpendicular banks of black silt-like earth, the country 

 is the same low, rolling tundra laud, backed to the northward by a chain of mountains extend- 

 ing fi'(jm the coast eastward as far as the eye can reach. Sometimes we wander away toward 

 the south and bring short, detached ranges of rugged mountains into view; but soon the river, 

 as if tired of these lesser heights, seeks once more the shadows of the more pretentious range. 

 For a long distance in this locality the timber along the river bank is scarce, and sometimes 

 for hours we steam past level plains with not a sign of a tree or plant except the ever-present 

 Arctic moss. The banks of the vivev here are from ten to fifteen feet high, and composed largely 

 of ice. At half past II we reached an island, a short distance above the highest position 

 reached by me in 1884, and camped. The continued rains have caused a freshet in the river, 

 and it is now hlled with driftwood and dt^bris from the shores. Now and then we pass deserted 

 Indian villages wliicli liad been washed out, and not infrequently we meet a tepee or summer 

 hut, reminding one very much of an immense inverted wicker basket, floating away toward 

 the sea. Upon the upper end of the island, where we camped for the night, a previous flood 

 had deposited a huge pile of driftwood, which we soon converted into a bonfire. Woi-n out. 

 wet. and chilled thrf)ugh by the hard da,y"s work in the lioats, we stretched ourselves around 

 the fire, and soon i^idy the roar of the flames as they shot straight up in the still air. and the 

 murmur of the river as it raced past the island, broke the solemn stillness of the night. 



As usual, we Itegan work next morning in the midst of a rain-storm. The river rose a foot 

 during the night, and the large quiintity of flriftwood coming down stream showed that it was 

 still rising. I oliserved among other drift-stuff a piece of sod twenty feet sijuare. upiield 1>y tlie 

 buoyancy of the willow roots it contained. At half past 1) we reached a fishing village sit- 

 uated on a gravel beach at the lower end of a large island in the river. Here I met several 

 natives whom I saw at the village of Um-nok-a-luk-ta in 1884. and I induced three of them 

 to acconq)any our party. The father of the T)ucks, a gray-haired Indian, informed me of the 

 difficulties we would experience in reaching the headwaters of the river, saying that tlie 

 natives never attempted to carry their boats higher than a place which he described as being 

 perfectly impassable with l)oats. Opposite this village a l)ranch of the river flows in at such 

 an angle as to form a very dangerous whirlpool. Our whole expedition would doubtless have 

 suft'ered wreck here had not the natives warned us to keep close to the other shore. During 

 very great freshets the Indians say that this whirlpool becomes exceedingly <langerous. and 

 that large trees are drawn out of sight when caught within its vortex. 



The timber along tlie rivei- banks in this locality again becomes plentiful, and for long dis- 

 tances forests of spruce, pine, and larch extend from the water's edge to the mountains. Tlie 

 course of the stream here is. generally speaking, to the southeast until it reaches a »[t\\v i>{ a 

 range of mountains trending to the southwest, where it turns sharply to the northeast .md so 

 contiuiK^s until turned to the eastward again by the range of mountains which form the nortli- 

 ern boundary of the Kowak Valley. 



When we reached the mountains on th(* south side of the valley and turned towai-ds the 

 northeast, the shores of the stream suddenly (-ontracted from four hundred and fifty to two hun- 

 dred yards, and the current increased from four to seven knots. We ])ut on one hundreil pounds 

 of steam, and with the assistance of the Indians jiaddling their boats were barely alile to stem 

 the current. The shores on both sides were clothed with a, d(»nse growth of willow and small 

 spruce, and were perfectly impassable, so that we coulil not resoi't to towing. Toward t 

 cj'clock the sun broke through the I'ain clr)uds for ,-i short time, di'ving our wet clothing and 

 camp outfit, which had been .soaked continually for three days. Toward Id o'clock we reached 



