V 
best at the moment, and the fact that we never 
felt compelled to hurry contributed very much 
to our enjoyment of the trip. Our shortest day’s 
march was seven miles and the longest thirty- 
five. At our departure, not wishing to over¬ 
estimate our powers, we named Salmon Lake as 
our destination, but after making that fifty miles 
without serious difficulty, we were encouraged to 
mush on another forty, to the Kruzgamepa Hot 
Springs, where we spent three days before start¬ 
ing home. 
We left Nome by the railroad track, but it 
was clear of snow for only five miles; then 
began our initiation in traveling over soft snow. 
We could step in the footprints of people who 
had gone over the trail ahead of us, but these 
holes, after having been used several times, were 
from six to twenty-four inches deep, and after 
a short distance of lifting our feet so high from 
one to another, we were ready for snowshoes. 
It was so much trouble tying them on each time 
we changed from railroad ties to snow that we 
simply slipped the thongs over the toes of our 
boots and held the other end; in this way we 
could raise the shoes more easily when they 
were well loaded with snow. 
Sometimes when we went down a'most to our 
waists we found it impossible to pull ourselves 
up until we had dug out the snow around us, 
so tightly was it packed. In very slushy places 
the shoes would go out of sight into water. 
When they refused to come up with all our 
tugging at the thongs, we had to roll up our 
sleeves and plunge our arms down into the icy 
water after them. One day an old man whom 
we met was describing the bad trail ahead of 
us, and when we said we “guessed we’d be all 
right since we had snowshoes,” he gave a snort 
of disgust and jerked out: “Snowshoes! You 
don’t want snowshoes; what you need there is 
a bathing suit!” 
Over the divide beyond Nome River the snow 
was as deep as twenty feet, and completely cov¬ 
ered the track for a good many miles. This 
was a tiresome stretch because there was no 
place to rest, and we could not stand still long 
because our feet got too cold for comfort. We 
had several guesses here about a little pen in¬ 
closed by sticks a foot high. On our return two 
weeks later the snow had melted enough to 
show us a flat car, the six standards of which 
had projected above the snow. 
We did no small part of our traveling on 
mining ditches and found them fairly good 
walking. At first we were rather uncertain 
about crossing gulches where the dirt embank¬ 
ment stopped, and the ditch water went through 
an open flume. There were bridges of snow to 
walk on, but we never knew whether they might 
not let us fall through half a dozen feet or more 
into the stream that ran beneath. At one place, 
instead of going along the embankment, we 
Mushing in Alaska 
Tramping and Wading to the Sawtooth 
Mountains and Back to Nome 
By RUTH REAT 
F OR a long time we two “schoolma’ms” had 
wanted to see the Sawtooth Mountains, 
and finding ourselves ready to leave Nome 
with the desire still ungratified, we held a con¬ 
sultation to see whether we could find time for 
the trip before our departure up the Yukon. At 
the Seward Peninsula railway office we learned 
that we could not go by train, for the track 
would not be clear of snow before the middle 
of July, and a month was longer than we could 
wait. 
We casually mentioned to some friends that 
we intended “mushing” to the Sawtooth, and 
were most emphatically informed that such a 
thing was “ab-so-lutely impossible.” Questioned 
as to whys and wherefores, they admitted that 
we would be able to follow the railroad track 
as far as it was uncovered, but told us we could 
never get through the deep, soft snow beyond; 
we, however, were sure it would be easy with 
snowshoes. The old sourdoughs argued that we 
would lose our way, yet had to admit that there 
would probably be some sort of trail, and that 
we could have our route described from one 
roadhouse to another. 
Their next objection was that we would be 
unable to make the distance between roadhouses, 
but we were positive that with twenty-four 
hours of daylight in which to trudge along we 
would finally reach a destination. Then they ad¬ 
vanced a theory of the danger of crossing swol¬ 
len streams, of sinking through soft snow into 
creeks and so on, but there was no evidence— 
satisfactory to us, at least—to show why two 
women could not get through if men were able 
to. At least, the only remaining excuse for 
keeping us at home was the fear that we might 
get tired, and this we joyfully met with the 
answer that to get tired was exactly what we 
wanted, as one object of the tramp was to ex¬ 
perience for ourselves the strenuousness of 
travel at that time of year. 
We planned to start June 16, the day follow¬ 
ing the one on which the idea originated. There 
was a two-inch snow on the ground that morn¬ 
ing, but the weather was good by the time our 
preparations were complete, which was not be¬ 
fore five in the evening. We did not follow 
the advice given us regarding the things we 
should take along; if we had, we should have 
been loaded down till unable to walk. Much 
of our baggage, for example, compass, watch, 
revolver, fishing reel and extra socks could be 
put in our coat pockets, so there was left for 
us to carry only our snowshoes, camera and a 
small sack of food for lunches and to tide us 
over in case of emergencies. 
We made only nine miles the first evening, 
but the next day we had a twenty-five-mile 
tramp from Dexter to the United States road¬ 
house. As we were not trying to make or break 
any records, we took whatever pace suited us 
ONE OF THE CANAL SIPHONS AT A VALLEY CROSSING. 
