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East view of the Davidson Glacier, showing the saplings and firs on the front of the moraine.

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Looking north along main part of Davidson Glacier, the dotted lines showing the route taken by the party.

miles, to Muir Glacier. Between the base of the ice, and tidewater, there is a moraine, on which is a dense growth of trees. These have probably sprung up since the glacier's recession from the bay. Some believe, however, it has never descended that far, and always belonged to the group of Alaska's "Mountain Glaciers." Reflecting the unusual glow of an Alaskan sunset, Old Davidson is one of the attractions of the trip.

The Start-Fort Seward to Chilkat.

Leaving Fort William H. Seward on February 1, 1915, at 9 a. m., with our ten days' rations on a Yukon sled, Jeswinne, my companion, and I proceed ed to Chilkat Village. Although it is only three miles southwest of the fort, it took us nearly three hours to reach there, because of our task of taking our sled-without dogs, up the hill and over the beach. We were fresh, however, at the start, and "mushing it"

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was not so very difficult. The term "mushing" comes from the French verb "marcher," to go on-a command used by the old French traders to their dog train.

Chilkat village, which might boast of the first cannery established in Alaska in 1889, is now quite deserted. It was once the home of probably the most aristocratic tribe of Alaska Indians the Chilkats-who kept the races to the north from advancing on those of the Southeastern Peninsula. We had to stay in the town over night, to wait for a favorable wind to take us down to Glacier Point. Finding a hut, containing a fair cook stove, and two bunks, and having our blankets with us, we were not so badly off, as we at first thought.

Glacier Ranches.

The idea of a ranch, almost at the foot of a glacier! It does not seem possible! But this big land, up here,

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well. In a stretch of six or seven miles there are four ranches-all log huts, as the pictures indicate. Each has a good barn, and root house, and enough hay is harvested in September to keep the stock all winter. These four ranches have five horses, eight head of cattle, and two dogs. There is but one married man on the Pointa Mr. Ward. His wife is also quite distinguished, for she is the only woman within a radius of twenty miles, except a few natives who are found camping out all winter, in the most ungodly spots on earth.

The Ten Mile Sail to the Point.

The little dory, in which we are to sail to the Point has been lying high and dry on the beach, at the mercy of the north wind, so it is necessary to put pitch into her seams. This we did, quite carefully, and at last sailed. away from Chilkat. By noon we were on our ten mile journey to the Point, with our own supplies, as well as those of our host, Mr. Congar. There were about sixteen hundred pounds in the little boat, and of course it took all the wind there was to keep moving. As our caulking and pitch did not hold we had to bail water most of the way. Four hours elapsed before we made. the ten miles, and each of us was as exhausted as if we had taken our dory with the oars.

The scenery on the entire trip was very interesting. On the east side is Haines' Peninsula, and on the west the mainland, and Chilkat Range, with its rugged, snow-capped peaks, and numerous glaciers arms of the Davidson Glacier. "Rainbow Glacier," three thousand feet up in the Chilkat Range, has an appearance decidedly like a rainbow-hence the name. On the east side we sailed by "Smokehouse Bay," named for "Smokehouse Mike," who made his living there in 1896, smoking halibut, and selling it to prospectors and trappers who were going inside. Catchan Island, which

A giant crevasse.

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Transportation on the snowfields of Alaska. "Mushing," Jesswinne in harness

we passed, to the westward, is only inhabited by natives in the summer. As we came nearer to Glacier Point and the glacier, Sullivan Island and Horton Point loomed up larger. The latter receives its name from Mr. and Mrs. Horton, who were murdered there in 1898 by the Indians. The story of this murder, due originally to the influence of a "witch-doctor" or "medicine man," is certainly thrilling, but we are concerned here with a glacier, not with Indian superstitions and justice, odd though they may be.

The Little Glacier Camp.

The log hut, where we are to dwell, during the period of our glacier exploration, seems cramped to one used to the space of a city home. A room about twelve by fifteen feet, containing a cook stove, table, four chairs and three bunks does service for sitting room, sleeping room, dining room, kitchen, as well as dark room for my plates. As I write at one end of the table, Mr. Congar, as chef, is preparing the famous "sourdough" biscuits at the other end.

Our menu has been limited as far as meat is concerned, because the game we expected to get has been disappointing. After several attempts, we succeeded in shooting a fine malard, but while he was hanging outside, awaiting a partner for the frying pan, the tomcat, which came with us from Skagway, ate him. "Nellie," the little spaniel, which braves the iciest water, is also quite a thief, and goes by the name of the "Bacon Hound," because she has had her nose fast in a can of bacon-grease.

The Awful Silence.

Jeswinne has reverted to the past, for he is buried in a "Blue Book" magazine only three years old! But what is the space of three short years in this land, where time counts for nothing at all? Are we not in the near presence of an ice-mass, centuries upon centuries old? The little log hut is crude and small, but it is as warm and cosy as heart could wish. There are compensations for its isolation, and the fearful stillness outside, made worse by the contrasting notes of the

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