Alaska Tails and Trails Magazine
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THE TRIP OF THE TANANA CHIEF
(Volume 2, No.2)
By Capt. T.L. Morgan

The first steamer to ply the waters of the Tanana and Chenoa (now Chena) rivers was the steamer "Tanana Chief," under the management of Captain Theodore L. Morgan, of St. Paul Minnesota, in the year of 1898.

The company owning this outfit was organized in St. Paul, Minn, in the early part of 1898, for the purpose of going to the Tanana Valley; at that time an unexplored portion of Alaska. The company was the outcome of the Klondike excitement. This company consisted of the following members: Messrs. E.M. Wells; Sidney Warner, Thos. Roland, J.W. Morgan, J.H. Orme, H.C. Sperbeck, S.W. Sargent, F.L. Gibbs, A. Olson, and T.L. Morgan.

The boat was modeled and taken to Dutch Harbor, Alaska, in knockdown shape, and put together in Unalaska, and towed from Dutch Harbor to the mouth of the Yukon by the steamer "Brixton," in July of that year. After about two weeks with the small steamer "Potlach," owned by F.J. Currier, aboard we started up the Yukon, which was on or about July 25th.

Arriving at the mouth of the Koyukuk we were told by the traders there that it would be impossible to get over the mudflats at the mouth of the Tanana River, and that we had better go up the Koyukuk, but as our party had planned to go into the Tanana country we did not like the idea of being switched off to another section of Alaska so we left the steamer "Potlach" together with the two barges we had in tow at this place, and took just enough men to man the boat and proceeded to the mouth of the Tanana, (which was named Fort Gibbon), in order to see whether or not we could get over the flats. Arriving at the Tanana we secured the services of a native who was familiar with that part of the country to assist us in getting through the chain of sloughs. After some delay we succeeded in getting up about 15 miles, where the channel narrowed down, giving us plenty of water, when we turned back for the Koyukuk, which was about 200 miles down the Yukon, and getting the steamer "Potlach," and barges we returned to the Tanana. With the "Potlach," and barges in tow it made traveling quite slow against the swift current. After getting about 100 miles up the Tanana, through a very flat country, the foothills being some miles back from the valley, we soon got sight of Mt. McKinley to the south of us, which towered above the surrounding country, and we could plainly see the snow capped peaks.

We also began to strike small Indian villages, which excited the natives to a great extent, as it was the first steamboat seen up the Tanana, and they were very curious to know our purpose in coming up the river, and they showed some fear that the white man was coming into their country to destroy their game and fur. By explaining to them as best we could, showing them gold coins, we made them understand that we were after gold. They seemed muched relieved as soon as they understood our mission up there and then sought an opportunity to trade their furs for provisions. As our company had only outfitted for our own needs we could spare them but very little which seemed to be a great disappointment to them. They would come out in their canoes, as they passed by different villages with fish to trade.

About 300 miles up the Tanana we noticed a long stretch of river, and in the bend, which was some distance off, I observed puffs of smoke, but heard no report of fire. Coming closer we discovered a large camp of Indians, and they were seeing the first arrival of the first boat up the river. Upon arriving at their camp we found a village of about 200 natives all in a great state of excitement upon our arrival. After going ashore each native, from the baby up to the oldest, had to shake hands with everyone of our party.

After the reception they proceeded to swarm aboard, each native having something in exchange for the white man’s "kow-kow," and they were greatly disappointed when they found we could spare them but little. One of the natives getting his eye on a couple of sacks of table salt simply froze to them and was highly delighted when we permitted him to take them.

The next evening we met Lt. Peterson together with five men, who had come up the White River on the Yukon, having made a trip of about 30 miles across to the head of the Tanana River, carrying three Peterborough canoes and their outfit. They belonged to a government exploring party, and through Lt. Peterson I was enabled to learn considerable of the upper river, and was very much pleased to find that we could get as far up as Bates Rapids. We went into camp that night and had quite an interesting talk in regard to their trip down the Tanana, and Lt. Peterson told me that the natives 200 miles up the river had told him:

"Pretty soon some steamboat; pretty soon some steamboat," and he could not understand what they meant but after meeting us he understood. It seemed very strange to us how the reports of our coming had preceded up the river so far. One evening after landing for the night, two natives, which we had picked up with their canoes down the river, together with others, got into their canoes and started up the river. After going about a mile, they met four men in a skiff who had just landed and were preparing their supper. One of the party was Mr. W.C. Hawkins, now of Seward, Alaska. The natives were as usual very much excited telling these men that a steamboat had just landed down the river round the bend. They lost no time in getting their frying pans and kettles which were over the fire into their skiff and starting down to look at the steamer. On coming around the bend and sighting us their hats went into the air with a big yell. When they reached us I asked them if they had had their supper. They said no; they had it partly cooked in their boat and brought it ashore and finished the cooking in our stove. When invited to be seated at the table one of the boys was so delighted that he told the other boys "to get their knees under the table quick." Previous to this they had been eating their meals sitting on the ground.

About 2 days before reaching Bates Rapids we picked up two natives in their birchbark canoes. They had been down the river trapping. One of them whom we called John, could talk a little English, and from him I learned that we could not get up through the rapids. By drawing maps, which is customary with the natives, he pointed out the slough, upon which the town of Fairbanks is now situated, and that some 15 or 20 miles above Fairbanks the Chena River enters into this slough, and he told us we could get up this river with our steamer. I then made a deal with him for a few provisions to pilot up this slough.

Arriving at a point where Chena stands, at about dusk one evening, we laid up for the night and there we found about 2 ½ cords of wood all ready cut, and stacked on the bank and ready to sell to us. Here was another instance of native "wireless" coming into play, for it would have taken four natives at least two days to cut this amount of wood we found on hand. While standing on the bow of the boat that evening a lone native decked out in eagle claw boots and fur trimmed garment, stepped up to the edge of the boat and I noticing the boots, took hold of them and made the remark ‘nice boots.’ He spoke up and said "Me Tanana Chief." I said to him, "and you are the Tanana Chief? All same, steamer, he Tanana Chief." We had named our boat the Tanana Chief, intending to go up the river. When he understood the steamer was named the Tanana Chief he seemed very much pleased over it. I then asked him if he did not want tea, meaning supper, which of course he accepted. I told him to get aboard and took him back to the cook saying this is the Tanana Chief and to give him all he wanted to eat. After awhile the chief came out and meeting me on the bank took my two hands, patting me on the back saying: "White man heap good, heap good." Next morning when about to start up the slough, I noticed our native John on the bank, and the chief seemed to be very much excited and scolding John very strongly. After leaving I asked John what the matter was with the chief. John said chief not heap mad; he no like white man go up Chenoa River and kill all caribou and catch all fur, him no like it." Before reaching the mouth of the Chenoa, John seeing that we were on the right track got into his canoe and started back to the Indian village.

Next day, while having some trouble in getting up around the bends and over some sand bars who should show up in his canoe but John, who had paddled up along near the boat every once in awhile holding his hands a few inches apart and crying; "Steamboat no go, too little water." He kept this up for three days, disappearing in the evening and showing up the next morning, but after the third day he gave up trying to discourage us from going up. After leaving the "Potlach" and proceeding with two barges several miles; we would double trip and come back as water was getting low and finally having to leave the "Potlach" entirely we put it in good shape for the winter and left it in the slough.

We the proceeded up the Chenoa as far as we could get which was about 100 miles above where Fairbanks is now, and which was as far as one could get in fall. Here we built what we called our "home cabins," two large log buildings. We ran our steamer into a little slough where she would be well protected from ice, and prepared for winter.

On October 6th, I noticed an Indian or two coming up the bank a little over from where we were building our cabins. I stepped over to them, and by the time I got to where they were, there were at least a dozen of them, and one white man who introduced himself as Lt. Castner, saying that he had been sent over from the Copper River to Circle City with two mules and two escorts, but in fording the Tanana had lost one of the mules by drowning and the other one was so used up they had to leave it. He had been told that there was a trail leading up the Volkmer which would take them over to Circle on the Yukon, some 300 miles distant, but after proceeding up Volkmer a ways, found no trail so thought best, as it was getting late in the fall, to come back to the Tanana and try to get down the Yukon.

After lashing two or three logs together for a raft they started downstream and only got a short distance when the raft struck a log jam, and the tree men barely saved their lives by jumping, losing all their provisions and outfit, but saving a rifle and a few shots. They lived on wild cranberries and wild-rosebuds one day. Then they came across a small wolf which they managed to kill and which gave them a supply of fresh meat for a few days. They were about nine days out before finding an Indian village. One of the Indians there told him there was a steamboat down on the Chenoa with "heep plenty beeje," and that they would take him down to the boat if he would promise them some flour and sugar. He told them as best he could, that he would do all he could for them. They were five days coming down the Tanana to the mouth of the Chenoa and up the Chenoa to where we were camped.

The natives stayed with us two days. We let them have the provisions Lt. Castner had promised them. They were very much interested in our boat, looking it over carefully and inquiring what we were doing in that country as well as they could, they thinking apparently that we were going in there for the purpose of trapping and hunting, which they did not seem to like at all as the native protect their fur and game animals about the same or fully as well as the white man on his ranch will take care of his stock for it is their means of support, their maintenance. They are quite different from the white man when hunting for all the white man seems to think of is to get all the game and fur he can in a day or a weeks time, regardless of the future. After the natives had been supplied with what we could spare them, one came to me, who seemed to be a reader, and said; "White man, he good, then all same Indian, he good. White man bad, then Indian heep bad," I understand his meaning at once and said; "White man he got plenty of ammunition, plenty guns; he shoot just as good as Indian shoot. Indian no good then white man no good. Indian all right, then white man all right." He seemed to understand me at once too and shook hands with me saying " All right, all right, Indian him good, white man good."

Lt. Castner had left his two escorts at the mouth of the Chenoa to camp while he came up to where we were, which was some 75 miles up the slough. Castner was in sore straits as to clothing and had worn his shoes out, and no moccasins scarcely. His feet were all torn to pieces by the rocks and brush, but after staying four or five days with us, under the care of doctor Fowler of our party, he was able to proceed on his journey. He was outfitted with clothing and provisions and a boat to enable him to reach Ft. Gibbon at the mouth of the Tanana on the Yukon. Afterwards we learned that he arrived before the river froze over, and after staying at Ft. Gibbon for a month or so, resting up, he with a guide went out over the ice by way of Dawson.

After completing what we called "home," which was a cabin 18X30 feet, and putting our boat into good winter quarters, we started to move up the Chenoa during the winter. Four men started out ahead and about every ten miles we built a small cabin and moved our supplies along up the river looking for the headwaters of the Chenoa which we were anxious to locate and we expected to find it near the foothills or the base of Porcupine or Mastodon Domes.

Up to the present time we had been unable to get any fresh meat in the way of moose or caribou as the bands of caribou had not reached the Tanana or the Chenoa country from the north on the yearly migrating trips to the headwaters of the White and Tanana Rivers. A few days after our party started to build cabins, we ran across a band of caribou and succeeded in getting nine of them which we cached, and from then on we had no problem getting plenty of fresh meat. By Christmas most of the party had worked their way along up to about 75 miles above where our boat was in winter quarters and as had been previously agreed, we were all to meet at the boat, our "home cabin," rather where would we would spend the week between Christmas and New Year, as we had been separated along the trail up to this time. On the way down the river one of our party, J.W. Morgan broke through the ice and got quite chilled in the icy water. He reached camp safely but shortly after was taken sick with dropsy. Our Dr. Fowler did all he could possibly do for him; he had good care but finally died April 9th. We buried him at one of our camps on the Chenoa. The balance of the party enjoyed good health.

During the early part of the winter while moving along the Chenoa with our outfit on sleds, there was no trouble in getting all the grouse we wanted. And it was interesting to watch the different fur animals which we were continually running across, such as beaver, otter, wolverine, etc., and wherever there was a band of caribou there would always be wolves camping on their trail and when they were hungry they would pick out a caribou and run him down and after eating all they wanted they would divide the remainder up amongst them, each taking a piece and carrying it off and hiding it, caching it for the future. They would not disturb the band again until in need of more meat. These animals are called the timber wolf and are of enormous size, the largest I have ever seen in any country. Some of them, I could judge, would weigh from 125 to 150 pounds.

The beaver houses are very interesting and were generally a little back from the river and resembled a large haystack in the distance, some being as high as 12-14 feet and all of similar diameter. We ran across several beaver choppings in the fall where the had cut down large poplar trees, eight and nine inches in diameter. They would cut these up into 3 foot lengths, roll them into the river, and by some means would sink those logs down into the bottom of the river for their winter supply of food.

The otter seemed to be quite plentiful but we made no effort in the way of trapping or hunting for the fur animals as our object was to get to prospecting grounds as soon as possible. We could see signs of the otter along on the snow on the river where they slide along by throwing their front feet back under them and just sliding, propelling themselves with their hind feet, leaving a trail in the snow where a small log had slid along, and whenever they would come to an air-hole in the river ice they would dive in. All these signs are easily traced in that country as the snow is dry and light as a feather and very rarely any wind.

After getting up some fifty miles or more from where our boat lay, we began to see signs of marten and as I had a couple of rat traps with me I would set them out around our cache and would occasionally get one.

By March 16, 1899, we had managed to get four tons of provisions and our outfit up to a gulch which we named "Wolverine," which was about 125 miles from where our boat lay, so as to be on hand and protect it from damage from the ice in the spring and the rising of the water and to do some repairing on her. Our engineer, J.H. Orme and myself supplied ourselves with a small camp stove, blankets and provisions enough to last five days thinking we could make camp early in that time, but the first afternoon after starting we struck a snowstorm which completely blocked our trail making it hard to travel, and only making our first camp which was about ten miles that day and the next day it was the same thing.

We camped at different times in the cabins we had previously built on our way up and which were quite comfortable. Our old trails were completely obliterated and we traveled with difficulty as each of us had a sled to pull and no dogs to be had.

The fifth day out was the most trying one of all because it was through a section of river which was exposed to wind which had drifted the snow considerably, and at times we would have to leave our sleds and tramp the snow down for some distance and then bring our sleds up and work through large stretches at a time.

When within about a half mile from camp this night both of us being pretty played out. Jimmy wanted to camp as he felt we were on the wrong trail and was lost, but I finally convinced him that if he would just follow me for about 20 minutes and not say a word, that I would land him in the cabin that we were looking for.

Soon after striking the timber he recognized it and clapped his hands in great glee. In a very short time we had a warm fire and after drinking a cup of tea we were soon sound asleep. The next morning, being Sunday, and up to the present time, having had a very hard trip, having to leave part of our outfit the night before we were in no hurry to start out.

On stepping out of the cabin that morning I heard a whirring noise, and on looking around I saw, some 15 to 20 yards away, a spruce hen had just lit of the ground and in a few moments another and another, until there were six; seeing me they were somewhat nonplused. But I stood perfectly still, so as not to disturb them until they settled down to feed, when I slipped behind the cabin telling Jimmy not to come out and scare the birds away until I could run up to where we had cached our guns and other things the night before. I wanted to get as many of these birds as possible, for our grub had dwindled down to a piece of bacon about two inches square, a cupful of flour, and a small quantity of tea, and that was all we had left to make the next thirty miles to where our boat lay, and these birds looked pretty good to me. When I returned to the cabin I took up the trail of the birds which had gone down into a grove of alders and I succeeded in getting five out of six. In a very short time I had two of them in a stew kettle. I certainly enjoyed my dinner that day, and replenished our larder, and so concluded to stay over a day at this cabin and rest up from our arduous trip.

Next morning we started out and made the next camp where we remained all night. Next morning while getting breakfast, I heard a grouse light just outside the cabin, and taking my gun I stepped out the door. Three grouse flew up into a tree near the cabin. I soon added them to our stock.

The second evening brought us in sight of our home camp and to where our boat lay, which certainly looked pretty good to both of us after our hard nine days tramp. Here we found everything just as we had left it three months before. There was not a track to be seen in the snow of an Indian, or of any animal having been around the cabin or boat. During the summer season the Indians from the Tanana in the neighborhood of Bates Rapids made the Chenoa River their hunting and fishing ground. In fall before the winter set in they would all go down on to the Tanana where they had good log cabins and would stay there during the winter which accounted for their absence in the neighborhood of our camp. We were quite uneasy for a day or two before reaching the boat, provisions being short and we not knowing but what the natives might have ransacked our boat and cleaned us out of all provisions which had been left with the boat. Up to this time it was perfectly safe to leave, outfits cached in this country, as the natives would not disturb anything cached by white man.

After resting up a few days and getting things straightened around we started to fix our boat up ready for what we might decide to put it to the coming summer. Along about the middle of April, while eating dinner, I looked out of the window and saw a native with a small boy standing about 20 yards from the cabin on the bank of the slough. I recognized him at once as Chief of the Tanana, whom I had met the fall before.

I called him in and of course as usual had to ask him if he wanted tea, meaning something to eat, which he readily accepted. During the meal I had laid an ordinary pickle on each of their plates. I noticed they did not touch it. Finally I said to the chief, pointing to the pickle, "eat’m, heep good," and by my eating one to show him it was good finally got him to taste it. I would like to have had a picture of his face about this time, but as usual with the Indian, if they don’t eat all that is put before them they will wrap it up in something and take it away with them and I noticed they took the pickles along too.

I learned from the Chief that he had just come over from Circle City on the Yukon, which was some 500 miles away, and that some 30 natives who had been with him were camped some 15 miles up the Chenoa from where we were waiting for the ice to go out, when they would come down the Chenoa to their camps with supplies they got in trade for furs from Circle City. About the second day after the two young natives whom I had met on the Tanana the season before made us a visit. Each day after there would be two or three come down and stay around the camp during the day. As the grouse had all gone to the mountains for the spring, and the caribou were farther up the Chenoa, we had no fresh meat for sometime.

I had told the natives to try and get me some. One evening about 9 or 10 o’clock, two of the natives came into the cabin and after awhile said to me; "you like’em moose?" I said "you got some?" He said "yes, down in canoe." The ice had gone out on the river by this time. I told him to bring it up to the cabin, when he brought up a moose ham weighing 125 pounds which certainly must have come from a very large animal. In a few days after this a full band of natives came down in their new birch bark canoes. They had with them a native who had died the day before and they wanted some boards to make a coffin for him.

After making the coffin they proceeded on down to their home camp on the Tanana. When we arrived there in June they showed us the grave, which was decorated with a new tent over it and a large flag pole with a blanket highly colored flying from it.

On May 28, 1899, some members of our party came down in skiffs and we took the boat down to Ft. Gibbon and up the Yukon to Rampart City, where the boat was sold, our party having split up, most of them going to the outside, thus ended our venture.

It is quite disappointing to look back and see the rich section of country we had traveled over, not knowing its untold wealth. The gold in the Fairbanks district was not discovered until four years later. (The Fairbanks area became the largest gold producer in Alaska).

Hunting in the Upper Yukon
By Thomas Martindale 1913 (Volume 2, No.3)
"Tomorrow let my sun his beams display. Or in clouds bide them. I have lived today."

ACCORDING to our program it was now time to commence a gradual journey to the outer world. The camp was broken up, and our pack horses were loaded, with horns, antlers and dunnage. We crossed over a divide and struck an extended water shed with a large stream swiftly flowing through a wide valley. Deep caribou trails were seen in different directions; in one place they were nearly two feet in depth. Gophers were plentiful and so were the ptarmigan. On this march I saw the only Wilson snipe that we sighted during the whole trip. We were now in close touch with another hunting party consisting of Mr. R. B. Slaughter a famous hunter from Chicago and Stephen B. Elkins, Jr., of West Virginia. The latter had experienced much trouble with his cartridges. He was using an 8 Mil. Mannlicher rifle the same kind of weapon that we were using. He had purchased American cartridges, and about every other one for some reason failed to explode. The Chief made a call at their camp and, finding out that Mr. Elkins was in need of cartridges, we were pleased to be able to supply his wants with some that had been made in Vienna, Austria.

It's a nasty thing to travel thousands of miles in search of big game and then to find the ammunition defective and unreliable, and more particularly where bears are to be hunted.

That evening we were in bed early, so as to have a good start in the morning. Our route for the new day was to cross another divide which required a long and torturous journey before we got to the summit. Once there, we lunched on its crest and from our high elevation took in the wonders of the glorious scenery. To the right of our line of travel, a goodly sized stream forced its way through a canyon with high, snow-covered mountains on each side. The course of the stream being at right angles to us and its path straight away without any turning as far as we could see, the sight was a most beautiful one and long to be remembered for its grandeur.

Over the summit of a certain mountain to the left a snow storm was tearing along at high speed. On the opposite side of the canyon the sun was brightly shining and a rainbow could be seen in the distance. Where we lunched the sky was clear and everything was pleasant. Such are the vagaries of this marvelous land.

We were told that but fifteen miles away was the Alaskan boundary and some tall peaks which were pointed out a little to the left of the stream were in Alaska. The air was clear, with a gentle breeze blowing in our faces as we commenced the descent. On the left side of us was a long and savage range of mountains covered with huge broken black rocks, the slopes carved into canyons and precipices. I did not dream when I first saw it on that day, that I would have to climb it two days afterwards, as it seemed almost impassable. Here were spiral peaks with patches of snow, and as the sun shone on the massive accretion of scattered rocks and tall pinnacles, the variegated colors caused by the bright light falling upon such a conglomeration of broken granite and limestone made the vision a glorious one.

When we had descended a couple of miles, the route led close to a tall pinnacle to the right, and back of it was an extensive inclined plane of perhaps two and a half miles in extent, and a mile or more in breadth, leading up to another watershed. This inclined plane was well covered with white moss, the nourishing food that the caribou are so fond of, it being their principal food.

The end of this day's journey brought us down to a basin like bottom where our tent was pitched, and the horses let loose to feed on the deep grass which was here everywhere to be found. Whichever way we looked from this camp it seemed that we were faced by a divide, north south, east and west.

The first evening we spent here was one long to be remembered. Luminous banks of crimson clouds hung over the mountains, while dark and weird shadows were to be found in all of the depressions of the mountain sides, and the wonder of it all was the constantly changing light.

Here the ptarmigan was found in enormous numbers, and their hoarse cackle made a great volume of sound that could be heard from every direction, both when in flight and when feeding. Their coat of feathers had turned nearly white, so as to be ready for the coming winter.

The following morning we were off in search of bear trails. We saw many sheep, but did not molest them. Still no signs of Bruin. That night we went to bed early and the next morning the Chief said we would climb the great mountain that we had passed two days previously. He averred that gophers would be there in abundance and at the crest bear ought to be found in the early morning digging them out. From our camp the distance was four miles. Nothing worthy of mention happened until we had climbed half_way up the big mountain and it was necessary to tether the horse and Billie, as they could not get any farther on account of the broken rocks. At this spot, on turning around to scan the horizon we noticed seven caribou cows coming down from the peak of the great inclined plane which has already been described. With the glasses we failed to see any bulls in the herd.

When the apex of the rocky mountain was explored we were much disappointed in our expectations, for neither gophers nor bears were visible. All of the first named animals had gone into winter quarters, and not a single one was seen. Neither were any bears or even their tracks to be found. We then must needs retrace our steps. On the return we looked with wondering eyes on the herd of caribou which now had increased from seven cows to thirty-two head in all. There were twenty-seven cows, three "outside" bulls, one spike-horn, and the herd bull, which was quite a distance behind the bunch. They were all leisurely feeding on the inclined plane, and scattered about in every direction. At first the herd bull at the distance he was away did not look to be a very attractive specimen; but as we watched his descent from behind the shelter of the horses and as he came nearer and nearer, we discovered him to be possessed of a grand spread of antlers.

We had come out after grizzly bears, but as we had found none we could hardly be expected to allow this fine bull to go unchallenged. It was there and then we decided to stalk him, but how? That was the question.

From their actions it seemed as if the herd would cross through the canyon, come up our side and over that divide. A good sized butte was near us and behind this we led the horses. Then we climbed the butte, and lay down to watch the doings of the herd.

Our first sight of the seven cows was At 8.26 A.M. It was 9.23 when we climbed the butte. Soon something happened. The bull must have given a signal to the herd to turn and feed back again up the incline, as one by one they commenced to go that way, while he kept on towards the bottom. Charley and Billie were unpicketed and we moved off to the right, then descended as fast as our animals could walk. We arrived at the bottom without having been discovered by the herd. Our animals were fastened in a secluded place. The Chief and I followed down along the bottom until we came to a tall pinnacle about nine hundred feet high, rising straight up from the canyon. This we climbed, and creeping on all fours came to the edge of the butte. The herd was well scattered and we found the old monarch lying down at full length directly beneath us. He looked the picture of a physically broken animal. My rifle had a strong recoil and I feared to try a shot at him from the peak, as I felt sure I would overshoot him, but the Chief insisted that by holding firm and shooting behind his body I would get him. I tried a shot, but as expected it was a miss. Then such a scurrying to and fro, principally on the part of the cows, one cannot imagine, and the remarkable thing about it was that in some way the cows almost instantly surrounded the bull. No matter which direction he took, he always had a zealous body-guard from among his twenty-seven wives.

It may easily be surmised that their line of flight would be to the top of the inclined plane, and so it was, but they never seemed to think of going in a straight line; they surged from one side of the plane to the other.

In the interim I was doing some wild shooting as the convoy of females always hung around the flanks of "the master," and in front and back of him as well, in order not to hit any of the cows, I was taking the finest sort of fine shots. I consequently made many misses. To tell the absolute truth, and that's what I always aim to do, I fired no less than fifteen cartridges, and the only harm done was to knock a small point off one of the big bull's antlers. Now my last cartridge was fired. It was necessary to go back to where Billie was tied, and get a fresh supply of ammunition. It was now noon. The caribou were all up on the top of the plane, and we expected them to pass over and disappear down the other side. The Chief said we had better let the quarry alone for a while, build a fire, and get our lunch; then if the situation warranted we could follow them over the ridge.

We ate a hearty meal, and I lay down on one of Billie's blankets with the saddle for a pillow which was my invariable custom every day and slept just a few minutes. It seemed to me that in this strange climate I could sleep sound at any time of the day and in any position, even on the back of Billie.

Again we climbed the butte of course keeping out of sight and when the top was attained the herd seemed to be just about to drop down over the other side. Back we went to our mounts, and getting into the saddle we followed in the wake of the herd. The ground was soft, treacherous, and boggy, with an occasional piece of muskeg to look out for, so we made slow time, yet, as things turned out, fast enough. We could not see the game from below, as we could from the butte, yet we went up very circumspectly for fear one or more of the herd might be lying down behind a small grassy elevation some where, and if they saw us the bunch would soon be away. At last from Billie's back I could make out the monarch's antlers, but I thought he was standing up, while in reality he was lying down. We jumped out of the saddles, tethered the animals, and commenced crawling on hands and knees towards the herd. As we got closer we found that the whole herd was feeding in an oblong depression made by some former little lake, now dried up. The next thing of interest was "the king." He was really lying down on a small embankment, while at each side of him were two cows, two facing up the inclined plane and the other two facing down. Both pairs seemed to be acting in the capacity of sentinels or body guards for "his highness." Working our way nearer, we approached a fringe of small willow bushes and behind these we were hidden. I was to the left, and in trying to see over this line of brush I raised my head a few inches too high. One of the sentinels on the left saw me just how she imparted her discovery to the others I cannot tell, nor even imagine. Suffice it to say that within the space of half a minute she had by some occult power conveyed the startling. information to every other animal of the herd that the enemy was upon them. "Run! Run! Run for your lives!" was the hurried admonition.

The old bull was on his feet in an instant, and at once he made a dash for the front, with one cow running on each side, close enough to be grazing his flanks, while another cow was close behind him. This made a very poor chance for an effective shot. The rear cow, however, seemed unable to keep up the pace, and dropped behind a little. This gave me a chance for a shot, and taking a good aim I fired.

"You've missed him again, and you'll never have another chance at him," said the Chief. "But look, he's staggering, the cows are running to and fro; something is about to happen. There, there, he's down at last."

It seemed almost impossible that he was surely down, as he had been living a sort of charmed life in dodging bullets up to the previous moment. There was no mistake, however, and as we walked up to the fallen monarch we found him already dead. When we had taken off his scalp it was found that he could hardly have lived many days, as his neck and shoulders were black and blue from the hammering the other bulls had given him, which they would deal out to him when he had tried one of his characteristic rushes at them because of getting too near some of his wives. On the right shoulder a small stream of puss was running down, showing that his injuries had been inflicted several days previously. There was not a particle of fat or suet on the back of his shoulders and he was as lean as the proverbial crow.

When the head and antlers had been securely strapped on Charley and some of the other portions on Billie, we looked around to see where the balance of the herd had gone. Not over four hundred yards away were the three bulls, and two of the three were already fighting to see which would be the new king, while the third presumably would wait to try it out with the victor.

But what of the twenty-seven wives of the "master of the harem"? They were in plain sight, calmly feeding as if nothing whatever had happened. There was not the slightest sign of nervousness or worry or fright. The old cry, "The King is dead; long live the King" is true of animal life as well as of human life.

The wives, that but an hour before had been so watchful in their care over the king as to act as a body guard for him, seemingly had now already forgotten him, and as soon as the mastery was decided among the other three bulls, they would cheerfully acknowledge the winner as their lord and master.

Verily, verily, nature is seen to be more and more wonderful the longer we live, and as we learn to understand her mysterious provisions for the guidance of animal life, and for the reproduction of the species.

This was all in all a most exciting day, from the first sight of the herd at 8:23 A. M. until we stooped over the fallen king at 4:28 P.M. With the exception of the time taken for lunch, it was an almost continuous period of keen excitement mixed with many disappointments. No doubt in the years to come, of all the soul stirring and almost heart breaking stalks that I have been in, this one of the great inclined plane will linger the longest in memory. I can recall it all--the sight of the herd feeding as it stretched out over the slope, the frequent battles between the youngsters and the old bull, the apparent affection of his wives, then the swift bullet going true to its aim, the short run, the final drop, and the stalk was finished.

Climbing in the Brooks Range
(Volume 2, No. 5)
By Ron Wendt

The day before it had been 88 degrees in the first week of June and 24 hours later, the weather pattern had suddenly changed as it has for thousands of years. Unexpected and not predictable this sudden weather change had even caught some of the grizzlies off guard and the big horn sheep perched on the edge of Atigun Gorge.

I had not been disappointed with my first impression of the Brooks Range when I saw it. It was as majestic and wild as I had heard it was. It was like no other place I had been in my life at the time.

A week before I had been with my Athabaskan friend Phillip Sabon from Copper Center, walking through the tundra along Atigun River. My friend suddenly stopped and pointed across the river at a pair of grizzly bear cubs rolling in the deep moss near the river. Suddenly, rising up behind them was the mother. She had seen us and dropped down on all fours and made her move toward us. We slowly walked back over the lush mossy tundra over a small hill, then briskly walked far from the place of the encounter. After our quick exit and a quarter mile from the site, we could see she and her cubs had headed north much to our relief.

To the south, upstream, a group of 20 caribou were walking on an ice covered lake, some lying down, mostly to keep the menacing bugs off them. A breeze blew down from Atigun Pass which relieved us from the menacing mosquito and hoards of flies that were trying to besiege us.

About a month before, Phillip, Johnny Goodletaw and myself had stood among the ice cakes along the Yukon River and studied the large Yukon fish wheel owned by George Attla. Phillip and Johnny were truly amazed at how much larger these Yukon fish wheels were compared to their Copper River fish wheels.

Breakup occurred a couple days later and the Yukon rose swiftly after the ice jammed upstream near Stevens Village. It was as if someone was filling up a bath tub. The large fish wheel disappeared downstream among the swirling ice chunks as it was swept away. A few tents had been set up on the high portion of the beach and they too were gone.

I huddled up against a sheltered outcrop of jagged rock, trying to keep out of the wind and the blowing snow. Most of the rock around me was made up of incredible amounts of fossils, a few of which I collected in my small pack I had with me. Wishing I had a truck to load all these fossils I determined someday I would come back to this area of the Brooks Range.

Within an hour or so the sun had come back out and the June blizzard was over. I wandered around the base of a rock pinnacle and discovered a small tunnel which had been blasted out many years before. Some fox tracks led into the entrance. The small tunnel only extended back in about 15 feet and one could only crawl in it to get a better look, but as I valued my knees I only squinted to get a glimpse of what was inside.

I left the tunnel and climbed up higher into the mountains. This portion of the Brooks Range was known as the Phillip Smith Mountains named after a United States Geological Survey geologist.

The snow had not collected much but it left the ground damp. I climbed up a small treeless draw and came over a small rise. Near the top on the other side I saw the top of some fur fluffing in the breeze. My heart raced hoping it wasn’t another blonde grizzly. It moved toward me within a few seconds then swiftly turned and ran. It was a fox fortunately and he might have thought I was a bear for all I knew.

I could see why there was oil development in this northern portion of the Brooks. Most of the geology was of the Lisburne geological formation. I stumbled across many more fossils; some sea shells, some leaf imprints and many more. Every rock I picked up had a fossil in it.

I stood at about 4,000 feet. My eyes scanned the horizon as I looked to the North Slope. The Trans Alaska Pipeline could be seen far in the valley below, looking like a giant silver snake winding its way across the vast landscape as the late evening sun glistened off it.

The mountains across the valley were higher then those I stood in. Not only were they higher but extremely majestic and foreboding. Massive gulches reached the sky with bands of rivers roaring down the steep slopes, meandering through jagged crags and eventually draining into Atigun River. I glanced back to the south at the headwaters of the Atigun River and the pass and could see into the Koyukuk region. Off to the left the Chandalar River drained. I had held some mining claims off the Chandalar in years past. It was rugged country and the gold was hard to get at, it being mostly in hard rock form where the claims had been.

I climbed up another 1000 feet or so and was on top of the world. There’s something very inspiring about being on top of the world. Its probably the same sensation climbers feel on top of large mountains like Denali or Everest or any lofty location.

By now a gentle, almost balmy breeze was blowing on top. I sat down on a clump of flat rocks and glanced around admiring the beauty wondering about all the formations and debris I had climbed over. I had the urge to walk further back into the mountains to the east but knew I was not prepared to head back into this remoteness, though the possibility of a few gold prospects beckoned me.

In comparison of the Brooks Range and the Talkeetna Mountains where I had roamed the ridges through the years, these mountains were not as jagged as the Talkeetnas. Like all mountains in the north, they all hold their own mystical aura.

One realizes just how small they are in the midst of this giant landscape and there is a great degree of humbleness and respect for this creation.

I wandered over slight ridge mounds, carpeted with moss until the mountain top I was on began to slope down, descending toward Atigun Gorge. I was on the lookout for sheep, knowing that they were usually in the area. Over the next ten minutes I was not surprised to come upon a dozen or more sheep a few hundred yards from me on the sunny evening slope resting near the edge of the gorge.

A lead ram stood up, alerted of my presence. The ram stared at me while the ewes continued lying down or grazing on the mountain vegetation. It was here I decided to sit down to observe and delight in the beauty of what was in front of me.

The ram continued to keep a wary eye on me wondering what my next move would be. I laid back in the moss on my right arm watching the movement of the herd. I thought about what it must be like to be a sheep in this beauty, but then again they were probably used to it and somewhat bored by all of it. There were a few lambs lying down.

A month before I had watched probably these same lambs jumping and playfully hopping like rabbits in playfulness along the mountainsides. As cute as they were all this play was training for their future survival in the area.

I stood up and then crouched slightly, making my way a few feet at a time closer to the sheep, but the ram would have no part of my wanting to be close. The others caught a glimpse of me and they slowly began to meander toward the gorge. It wasn’t my goal to disturb their late evening relaxation for I too was relaxing in my own way.

Soon they were all out of sight. I headed over into another small narrow lush valley where a crystal clear stream ran through the moss. A small gulch to my right caught my attention when suddenly two more sheep bounded out fleeing my presence. It did not take them long to get into the valley below.

I drank from the icy stream water nearby and swore it was the best tasting water I had ever had, but then again I had said that about many clear water streams. Dipping my tin cup into the water I could see it was so clear and pure, no particles or pieces of dirt could be seen. It was as if it had just come from tap water in clearness.

One other creek came to my mind where the water was clear and pure. Marion Creek near Coldfoot and Wiseman south of here had great pureness to it. I had been doing some gold prospecting near Wiseman but had camped out next to Marion Creek. It was a hot day in the 80s one afternoon on Marion Creek so I decided to put a chair in the stream bed I had in my truck and sit in the middle of the creek up to my neck. This cooled me off quickly!

The stream up here in the Brooks was only a few feet wide and six inches deep. The sun shone brightly in this evening. It was not until I looked at my watch and found it was after midnight with the sun on the horizon.

By now the sheep were probably hanging off the cliffs of Atigun Gorge, stepping from rock to rock, pinnacle to pinnacle. The day before, I had watched a grizzly come up this same draw from 4,000 feet below on the valley floor. I was keeping an eye out just in case. I was a long way from camp.