690 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Oct. 31, 1908. 
Kechic Lake, as near as I can judge, is sixty 
or seventy miles in length, and possibly eight 
to ten miles in width, varying in that respect on 
account of the little inlets along the shores. 
There is very little snow noticeable on the 
mountains in September, except here and there 
in small patches, at the head of the lake, but 
they are mostly covered with vegetation. I 
should say the mountains are about three to 
four thousand five hundred feet in height, but 
no more. 
Weather pleasant. There was a heavy frost 
during the night of Sept. 9. The Chulitna is a 
rapid stream; in fact, pretty much all the rivers 
of Alaska are. I had to travel on foot part'of 
the time, as the water was so shallow that the 
natives had to use the long sticks to propel the 
boat along and walk beside the boat. I saw a 
great many fresh signs of beaver, where they 
had cut the growing willow trees and were 
trying to form a dam across the river. Moose 
signs were numerous. We concluded to camp 
in hopes of getting a shot at one. After supper 
the Eskimos indulged in their Ucalic, dried 
salmon, of which they generally manage to have 
a supply and with which they, it seems, cannot 
very well do without. 
We traveled all the next day on the river in 
cloudy weather with a heavy mist falling, wind¬ 
ing in and out, around a thousand curves and 
reached a small lake in the afternoon in sight 
of the Mulchatna range of mountains. The lake 
is about three miles long. We followed the 
shore and at last come to a small stream flow¬ 
ing into it from the west and kept on until we 
came to another lake of the same dimensions 
and followed around its shores until we found 
a small river leading into it from the west. 
During the night it rained, and the morning 
of the 12th the weather was heavy. After din¬ 
ner, as we were rounding a bend of the river, a 
fine moose that had been lying close to the 
water's edge stood there with only his hind 
parts exposed, and did not seem to care much 
whether he got out of sight or not. The 
Eskimo in the stern of the kyak saw him first 
and said in a quick, low whisper, “Sar-kat, Sar- 
kat.” As my rifle happened to be in the stern, 
the Eskimo took it out and fired twice, and I 
said to him, “Give it to me,” as the moose did 
not move. In the meantime one of my guides 
on the further side of the stream had a broad¬ 
side shot with his old Enfield rifle, but the 
moose stood there and never moved in its 
tracks, so I fired three shots, all I had, directly 
in its rear parts, while sitting in the kyak, but 
he did not appear to take any notice of us and 
walked leisurely off into a deep thicket. We 
all went ashore as soon as possible and gave 
chase, thinking we had wounded him mortally, 
but we failed to get sight of him again. The 
Eskimo was sure that he had hit the bull. On 
examining my rifle I found that the sight had 
nearly slipped off the barrel. I must have shot 
the animal but at the wrong end to be fatal. 
This was the fattest and finest looking moose I 
ever saw. 
We were detained a while next morning, 
owing to some repairing to be done on a hole 
through the bottom of my kyak. At noon I 
was a considerable distance ahead of the guides 
and waited for them to come up to see if we 
had not traveled far enough on the river, as 
the mountains seemed nearer now than if we 
proceeded further. When they came up it 
seems neither of them knew where the portage 
should commence. We went back a short dis¬ 
tance and did not find it, so started up the 
river again. After we had gone some distance 
up the river, further than we had been before, 
the guides climbed the hills to see where we 
were, and I climbed, too, as things began to 
look just a little queer to me. When I got to 
the top of the hill, I saw that they had gotten 
a long way off from where we should have 
stopped. I said to them, pointing to the south¬ 
west, “That is the way.” They nodded assent 
and felt quite chagrined. It occurred to me 
then that they were trying to mislead me (such 
I found later to be the fact). I told them that 
we were too far up the river and we turned back 
some three or four miles and went up a small 
creek and as it seemed to lead in the direction 
of the mountains, thought we would follow it as 
far as possible as it would save carrying the 
luggage and kyak. We kept on until near sun¬ 
set; in fact, till we could go no further with¬ 
out lifting the end of the kyak around the 
curves in the stream and concluded it was time 
to camp for the night. 
During the night it rained and snowed on 
the mountains; weather quite cold. We com¬ 
menced our portage and traveled until noon. 
It took just four Eskimos to carry the luggage. 
We arrived at the summit of a hill and could 
see no signs of a river to the west of us. The 
natives did not know what to do, so I told them 
to go on, and on we went. I was going to an¬ 
other range of hills between some mountains, 
and while on the way, had to go around a small 
lake of a mile or so in length. As I was 
ahead with my gun and collecting basket, one 
of the Eskimos called my attention to the fact 
that the others were going around the other 
side of the lake. I waved my hand to them and 
waited until they came up. It had commenced 
to rain, and I put on my skin coat (Kameleca). 
When they had caught up to me, one of them 
went ahead to see if we could get around the 
north side of the lake. I told them it was all 
right. Lie came back soon, saying he saw some 
salmon in the water; so I knew then there must 
be a stream leading out of the lake somewhere. 
Then and there I paid off the guides I had with 
me for the last eight days, gave them some¬ 
thing to eat and let them return home. 
My men started that morning back for part 
of their load that they had to leave, and they 
returned about noon. The snow still continued. 
I saw thirteen beautiful swans (Olor buccinator) 
swimming gracefully in the lakes, but could not 
get within shooting distance of them. Their 
note resembles very much the sound of a bugle. 
That night we had a very light supper, as we 
were nearly out of eatables and about 400 miles 
from home or any place to get anything to eat 
except dried fish, which were to be had on the 
Nushagak River, probably some two days' 
travel yet. Animal food was very scarce. I 
managed to find a solitary duck next day and 
bagged it. Scarcely any game was to be seen, 
but now and then a lone raven came to the 
camp. The Eskimos returned with the kyack 
at noon. After dinner they got everything into 
the boat and we moved on, following a small 
shallow river for miles. Some places we were 
compelled to get out and walk. I took my 
gun and started ahead, the natives wading in 
the stream to manage the boat. We crossed 
a great number of small lakes and at last 
reached a long one that we traveled on until we 
reached the Cooktolie River and camped on a 
bar in the middle of the stream. The natives 
were feeling pretty good with the thought that 
they would arrive home in a day or so more. 
We expected to make good time, as the river 
flows direct to the sea. We were now about 
three hundred miles from home. 
We started down the river on the 16th, after 
loading some shells. We had but a few miles 
to make on the Cooktolie before reaching the 
Mulchatna River, which is larger but less rapid. 
It was as much as we could do to manage our 
kyack in going around some of the short bends 
of the river. The stream was full of large 
boulders, some just below the surface and some 
exposed to view. Those below could be lo¬ 
cated, the water running so swiftly as to cause 
a commotion on the water above them. There 
was no use in paddling, save to keep the kyack 
off the rocks, which the Eskimos seem very 
expert at and kept up a continual chatter be¬ 
tween those fore and aft. It was quite excit¬ 
ing during most of the forenoon running the 
Cooktolie River; it has as many curves as 
Tennyson’s Brook. 
We reached the Mulchatna River at noon, 
then we had better traveling, with no rocks to 
speak of. We stopped at a deserted village and 
remained long enough to get dinner. All the 
Eskimos of the place were out; they had not 
returned from their summer hunt yet. There 
was not so much as a solitary dog to be seen. 
I shot a crane which the Eskimos eagerly de¬ 
voured. The river here flows about seven miles 
an hour; by night we had traveled over ninety 
miles. 
After going a short distance on the 17th, we 
had to halt because of a hole through the 
kyak. We put 011 a patch. An extra piece of 
sealskin (mucklock) is always carried and a 
needle and sinew. This is one of the necessi¬ 
ties in traveling in a skin boat, for there is no 
knowing how soon it will be brought into use. 
There are many islands in the river which vary 
in width from two to four hundred yards. I 
shot a brace of mallards while rounding a bend 
just at noon, and they were soon put on a spit 
over the fire. A little accident happened to one 
of my Eskimos. He felt so good he had to do 
something, so he cut his foot with the ax, just 
enough to make him useless except to paddle. 
We made camp for the last time that night, as 
we had reached a point on the river where the 
tide affects it. As the tide was out, we were 
compelled to wait for the ebb, which would be 
at about midnight. The natives took every¬ 
thing above high water where they put up the 
tent. I told them to wake me at ebb tide. I 
took a short nap and was awakened promptly, 
the water rising to within six feet of my tent. 
My two Eskimos had put everything into the 
kyak except the tent and the bear skin I was 
lying on. We were soon on the river and found 
that the new moon that shone so brightly in the 
early evening had fallen below the horizon, but 
the stars were bright. We floated down the , 
river with the tide as it coursed its way to the j 
sea and arrived home early in the morning. 
John W. Clark was the only white man there to | 
give me a genuine greeting, which he ever 
offers to his fellow-men. 
