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THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



tory birds, the big-game animals and 

 smaller fur bearers, the minerals and 

 methods of mining, and in the magnifi- 

 cence and variety of the scenery, repre- 

 sented in well-defined mountain ranges 

 and isolated peaks, the foaming cascades, 

 the giant glaciers and ice fields, the 

 rivers and intervening lakes, and the 

 hundreds of unexplored fiords of the 

 eastern and southern shore. 



Here and there snow-capped moun- 

 tains drop to plateaux, rough and shaggy 

 in crimson coats of moss or yellow- 

 barked willows, and further down the 

 green coniferous forests touch the tun- 

 dra, dotted with glistening ponds, the 

 feeding place for moose and the home of 

 the black fly and mosquito. 



Here during the summer solstice are 

 weeks of brilliant weather and periods 

 of wet and fog, while the frequent seis- 

 mic disturbances give notice how super- 

 ficial are the ice fields and the blizzards 

 in a country of great volcanic energy. 



Here is a mid-year season, when the 

 calendar days are separated by an hour 

 of twilight, and again when the trapper, 

 in his sheltered winter cabin, cannot see 

 the sluggard sun above the horizon of- 

 the surrounding mountains. 



Here are tidal waves and rip-raps of 

 Turnagain Arm, like those of the Bay of 

 Fundy, and here so rare the atmosphere 

 that at times Mt. McKinley, distant 200 

 miles to the north, can be seen from the 

 higher mountain tops. 



So many accurate and graphic accounts 

 have been written of trips along the 

 Alaskan coast that any effort to duplicate 

 or vary the same may be dispensed with 

 here. 



On leaving Lake Superior and at the 

 last moment I was obliged, owing to 

 sickness in his family, to get a substitute 

 for my old Michigan guide, John Ham- 

 mer, who for 25 years had accompanied 

 me on various trips. Charles Anderson, 

 who took his place, had frequently been 

 employed by me in various capacities, 

 and possessed a fair knowledge of the 

 woods and waters. 



On July 8 we left Seattle for Seward, 

 and had pleasant weather throughout 

 most of the voyage. 



Toward sunset on the evening of July 

 14 the steamer entered Resurrection Bay, 



which penetrates deeply into the Kenai 

 Peninsula, forming the most wonderful 

 harbor on the Alaskan coast and open 

 throughout the winter, when the Great 

 Lakes and connecting rivers are closed 

 for many months. 



After a run of ten miles between two 

 snow-covered ranges paralleling the bay, 

 we reached the town of Seward, and the 

 first responding to the shrill and echoing 

 whistle were a hundred or more dogs, of 

 every breed and color, who amicably 

 ranged themselves in several compact 

 rows along the edge of the dock, in hopes 

 that some portion of the garbage saved 

 by the kindly steward would fall to their 

 lot (see page 431). In their home 

 grounds or street fronts these shaggy 

 beasts maintain a dead-line against all 

 canine intruders, but at the wharf there 

 was no distinction based upon race, size, 

 sex, or relationship. Whenever a steamer 

 whistled at night, or any unusual noise 

 aroused them, the wolf-like howl, rising 

 and falling in chorus, told plainly of the 

 near kinship of many of these to the 

 gaunt and ravenous creatures of the 

 forest and rocky gulches. 



On disembarking we were met by an 

 obliging inn-keeper and soon were in 

 earnest confab with our local guide, 

 Thomas B. Towle, who had just come in 

 from his mining camp, on the upper 

 Kenai River, with the information that a 

 launch would meet us at the lake, two 

 days later, on the arrival of the motor 

 train. 



At Seward so varied and reasonable 

 are the supplies needed on a camping 

 trip that little need be brought from the 

 outside, while the courteous and reliable 

 character of the inhabitants, private and 

 official, makes the entry and return to 

 this little town a source of pleasure and 

 kindly recollection. In fact this may be 

 said of most Alaskans, for their trials 

 and struggles, like placer mining, have 

 removed the rough and undesirable from 

 their midst. 



On the morning of July 17 we boarded 

 a gasoline car of the Alaskan Northern 

 Railroad, en route to the upper Kenai 

 Lake, 23 miles to the north, while the 

 canoe, and bulk of the provisions were to 

 be forwarded by freight several days 

 later. The railroad in question extends 



