IN GREEN ALASKA 



redolent of an odor far different from that of roses 

 or new-mown hay, and very shortly one turns away 

 to the woods or to the unpolluted beach. 



The first tide was not high enough to Uft our 

 steamer, so we passed another day at Orca, and all 

 hands went in the naphtha launches on a picnic to a 

 wild place eight or ten miles distant with the sugges- 

 tive name of Bomb Point. It was a lovely secluded 

 spot, a crescent-shaped beach half a mile long at the 

 head of a shallow bay, flanked by low, wooded points 

 and looked down upon by lofty mountains. Here we 

 were quickly roaming over one of those large natural 

 clearings or hyperborean meadows that we had so 

 often seen from the ship, and that had looked so 

 friendly and enticing. This one, on a nearer view, 

 proved especially alluring and delightful ; a strange 

 air of privacy and seclusion was over it all. It was 

 not merely carpeted to the foot, it was cushioned. 

 Walking over it was Uke walking over a feather-bed, 

 — moss and grass a foot deep or more upon a foun- 

 dation of soft peat. Wild flowers — yellow, white, 

 pink, purple — were everywhere. 



Little pools or basins of brown water, their brims 

 neatly faced and rounded with moss and grass, were 

 sunk here and there into the surface. Stunted mossy 

 hemlocks and spruces dotted the landscape, and the 

 near-by woods threw out irregular lines of gray, 

 moss-draped trees, — novel, interesting. Such a look 

 of age, and yet the bloom and dimples of youth! 

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