hrdliCka] WRITER-S TRIP ON YUKON 119 



not careful in bending or moving and holding. The sail comes 

 down and the mast is laid down, a bad piece of work. Berg and 

 Pete Brant (an elderly trapper with us but formerly of Coast 

 Guard Service at Nome, a good sailor and knowing these waters) 

 work very hard and well. The skin boat has to be pulled alongside 

 and bailed out by young Weenie, a very hard and dangerous task. 

 Mr. Berg's rain hat (" souwester ") blows off and is lost in the 

 seething waves. Later Weenie nearly loses his — snatches it out 

 between the boats with a narrow escape for his head. Then Weenie 

 climbs into the skin boat — a brave act — and finishes the bailing, but 

 is much "in'" after getting back. Then our big staunch motor 

 launch starts again at reduced speed. But the skin boat does great 

 antics and threatens to fill again or break; so Pete Brant holds the 

 rope and is jerked every now and then, until I fear that he may 

 any moment be jerked out into the waves and watch to catch his 

 legs. Fortunately he succeeds in preventing it, but there was a 

 slim margin. 



It has drizzled or rained, besides the wind, most of the afternoon, 

 and there is a lot of spray to splashes from the waves. All this has 

 to be taken as it comes, but the water is not cold, and our boots and 

 oilskins give protection. Nevertheless my right knee to hip gets 

 thoroughly wet and chilly, and I was not alone. But there is little 

 time to think of such things. We see at Teller the waves breaking 

 high on the shore, some boats already on the beach and others being 

 driven there, a few people looking helplessly on. 



About 5.50 we round the Teller spit and come in the lee of it into 

 calmer water. But the visibility over the water is probably not 

 over a mile now, and we see no trace of the Bear. The gasoline 

 supply is getting rather low ; and all are more or less cold, though 

 dressed warmer than I and, due to their hip-high rubber boots — 

 mine reach only to the knee — not wet. I now shake a lot with 

 tlie cold, without being able to stop it. So we skirt the protecting 

 bluffs southward to where everyone thinks the Bear is, near a little 

 stream from which they were to take fresh water. But though we 

 all strain our eyes to the limit, there is no trace of the ship. 



Thus reach Cape Riley and the stream, which is found dry, without 

 a drop of water. Get on the pebbly beach, turn skin boat over to 

 get tlie water out, and hurry to chop wood. No wood save the water 

 troughs, so chop these. Must have fire. I warm up a little by 

 running around and chopping. They pour gasoline on the wood. 

 make a big fire, cook a pot of coffee, and with bread and preserved 

 meat make a supper, though it is mainly coffee. 



Near 8 and getting dark. Storm, outside of protection of cliffs, 

 unabated. There is a second watering place, 7 or 8 miles across tlie 



