﻿544 
  

  

  THE 
  NATIONAL 
  GEOGRAPHIC 
  MAGAZINE 
  

  

  A 
  CHILD 
  OF 
  NECESSITY 
  

  

  Bursting 
  a 
  tire 
  while 
  taking 
  off 
  at 
  White 
  

   Horse, 
  Lieutenant 
  Crumrine 
  wound 
  a 
  rope 
  

   round 
  the 
  rim 
  of 
  his 
  wheel 
  and 
  placed 
  the 
  

   tire 
  casing 
  over 
  this. 
  With 
  his 
  plane 
  thus 
  

   equipped, 
  he 
  "roared 
  in 
  and 
  landed 
  grandly 
  

   at 
  Dawson" 
  (see 
  text, 
  page 
  547 
  ). 
  

  

  The 
  thrill 
  was 
  only 
  momentary, 
  for 
  the 
  

   next 
  glance 
  ahead 
  disclosed 
  more 
  glaciers 
  

   and 
  more 
  "scenery, 
  " 
  which 
  summoned 
  a 
  

   thrill 
  that 
  shook 
  out 
  of 
  our 
  minds 
  all 
  

   thought 
  of 
  home. 
  The 
  glaciers 
  reminded 
  

   me 
  vaguely 
  of 
  the 
  man-eating 
  mosquitoes 
  

   of 
  Jasper 
  ; 
  probably 
  because 
  they 
  were 
  

   irritating 
  rather 
  than 
  dangerous. 
  

  

  Across 
  the 
  fjordlike 
  arm 
  of 
  Stewart 
  

   Canal, 
  over 
  Bohn 
  Canal 
  ; 
  then, 
  ten 
  min- 
  

   utes 
  later, 
  Bradford 
  Canal, 
  all 
  really 
  

   deep 
  inlets 
  of 
  the 
  sea, 
  we 
  flew, 
  and 
  then 
  

   we 
  sighted 
  Wrangell 
  Island 
  and 
  Wran- 
  

   gell, 
  the 
  town, 
  due 
  north. 
  A 
  smudge 
  had 
  

   been 
  lighted 
  to 
  guide 
  us 
  to. 
  the 
  field, 
  and 
  

   this 
  we 
  sighted 
  when 
  10 
  miles 
  away. 
  

  

  LANDING 
  IN 
  TIDE-WATER 
  

  

  Then 
  followed 
  one 
  of 
  the 
  most 
  curious 
  

   experiences 
  of 
  the 
  trip. 
  The 
  field 
  ap- 
  

   peared 
  to 
  be 
  excellent 
  from 
  the 
  air. 
  We 
  

   all 
  watched 
  Lieutenant 
  Kirkpatrick 
  make 
  

   his 
  landing, 
  hoping 
  to 
  benefit 
  our 
  own 
  by 
  

   his 
  example. 
  What 
  looked 
  like 
  a 
  quantity 
  

  

  of 
  sand 
  flew 
  up 
  before 
  his 
  wheels 
  when 
  

   they 
  touched 
  the 
  ground. 
  

  

  Descending 
  in 
  our 
  turns, 
  we 
  found 
  

   that 
  in 
  reality 
  we' 
  were 
  landing 
  in 
  a 
  bed 
  

   of 
  salt 
  marsh 
  grass 
  immersed 
  in 
  over 
  a 
  

   foot 
  of 
  water 
  in 
  places. 
  The 
  field 
  was 
  

   inundated 
  at 
  high 
  tide. 
  Our 
  hosts 
  had 
  

   neglected 
  to 
  mention 
  these 
  circumstances, 
  

   which 
  is 
  just 
  as 
  well, 
  because 
  this 
  field 
  

   was 
  the 
  only 
  available 
  site 
  in 
  that 
  section, 
  

   and 
  landing 
  in 
  that 
  amount 
  of 
  water 
  is 
  

   more 
  disconcerting 
  than 
  dangerous. 
  

  

  Later 
  we 
  learned 
  that 
  Wrangell 
  was 
  at 
  

   that 
  moment 
  experiencing 
  the 
  highest 
  tide 
  

   it 
  had 
  known 
  that 
  summer, 
  a 
  tide 
  of 
  19 
  

   feet! 
  We 
  realized 
  instantly 
  upon 
  land- 
  

   ing 
  that 
  it 
  was 
  high 
  enough 
  to 
  give 
  air- 
  

   planes 
  and 
  occupants 
  a 
  thorough 
  drench- 
  

   ing. 
  

  

  We 
  were 
  removed 
  from 
  Sergief 
  Island, 
  

   after 
  our 
  ships 
  were 
  put 
  in 
  readiness 
  for 
  

   the 
  next 
  day's 
  flight, 
  to 
  the 
  island 
  of 
  

   Wrangell, 
  seven 
  miles 
  distant. 
  Many 
  of 
  

   the 
  people 
  of 
  the 
  town, 
  including 
  the 
  

   good 
  mayor, 
  accompanied 
  us 
  in 
  the 
  one 
  

   boat 
  to 
  Wrangell, 
  where 
  we 
  were 
  to 
  at- 
  

   tend 
  a 
  dance 
  given 
  in 
  our 
  honor. 
  

  

  Due, 
  I 
  presume, 
  to 
  the 
  weight 
  of 
  our 
  

   load, 
  the 
  overburdened 
  boat 
  stuck 
  on 
  a 
  

   sand-bar 
  and 
  remained 
  there 
  for 
  an 
  hour 
  

   and 
  a 
  half 
  before 
  we 
  reached 
  Wrangell, 
  

   where 
  we 
  were 
  banqueted 
  by 
  the 
  mayor. 
  

   We 
  excused 
  ourselves 
  early 
  that 
  night 
  

   and 
  were 
  shown 
  to 
  our 
  bedrooms. 
  

  

  Remaining 
  over 
  two 
  days 
  at 
  Wrangell, 
  

   three 
  of 
  the 
  flight 
  got 
  away 
  on 
  August 
  

   16, 
  while 
  I 
  was 
  compelled 
  to 
  remain 
  be- 
  

   hind 
  to 
  repair 
  a 
  propeller 
  I 
  had 
  nicked 
  in 
  

   starting. 
  

  

  White 
  Horse 
  was 
  our 
  next 
  objective. 
  

   Leaving 
  the 
  next 
  morning 
  at 
  8 
  o'clock 
  

   with 
  a 
  10-mile-an-hour 
  wind 
  on 
  my 
  tail, 
  

   I 
  flew 
  low 
  over 
  Stikine 
  River, 
  past 
  the 
  

   Taku 
  Glacier 
  and 
  above 
  Juneau. 
  

  

  Clouds 
  hung 
  low 
  that 
  morning 
  and 
  we 
  

   were 
  forced 
  to 
  fly 
  under 
  1,000 
  feet 
  all 
  the 
  

   way. 
  Past 
  Haynes, 
  the 
  White 
  Pass 
  

   seemed 
  to 
  be 
  actually 
  immersed 
  in 
  the 
  

   clouds. 
  Upon 
  reaching 
  the 
  pass, 
  I 
  found 
  

   scarcely 
  100 
  feet 
  clear 
  air 
  between 
  its 
  

   crest 
  and 
  the 
  clouds. 
  Through 
  this 
  gap 
  

   we 
  flew 
  ; 
  thence 
  straight 
  on 
  to 
  White 
  

   Horse. 
  My 
  companions 
  had 
  all 
  arrived 
  

   safely 
  before 
  me 
  and 
  were 
  in 
  readiness 
  to 
  

   proceed 
  to 
  Dawson. 
  

  

  The 
  people 
  of 
  White 
  Horse 
  were 
  very 
  

   enthusiastic 
  over 
  aviation, 
  although 
  the 
  

  

  