M.S. Boxer

M. S. Boxer

“Mark two!” sounded the call from the young seaman as he wiped the cold water from his hands. Where had I heard or read a remark like that before? I was idly leaning against the ship’s railing watching the seamen working on the deck below. The ship was approaching Unalaska Island, its occupants expecting to stop over in Dutch Harbor.

As we approached the cannery’s dock, our captain called to the man on the dock, “Can we tie up for awhile? Our passengers and crew have not eaten for a week.” The captain may have stretched the truth a little, but it had been a very rough trip crossing the Gulf of Alaska from Juneau. Permission was granted for us to tie up, and an invitation extended to come ashore.

The man asked us not to walk around to the front of the dock since workmen had been doing some repair work, and the area was not safe at that time of day. The dock was large so there was plenty of room. It was great to be able to walk on something that did not heave or roll, and to relax our watch for the next handhold to prevent ourselves from falling down.

While we were doing our exercises on the dock, the cook fixed a nice meal for us in order to “fill up the empty places” resulting from frequent trips to the ship’s railing during the rough crossing of the gulf.

Following the evening meal, some of the passengers went ashore for another turn around the dock. For my part, hours and hours of wakefulness on the rough seas were too much. As I was one of the sleepy ones, I turned in early to take advantage of the ship’s silence.

Some time later, the changing motion of the ship or the voices of men working somewhere awakened me. I looked out my room’s window. It was daylight outside. I dressed and went out on deck. The ship was going through a narrow pass, with land very close on both sides of the ship. I asked a seaman where we were. He said we had just passed through Unimak Pass and were ready to enter the Bering Sea. I consulted my small map, which was always handy. Sure enough, we were rounding the West end of the Aleutian Peninsula, and had set our course for Bristol Bay.

The sun was just coming up directly in front of the ship and it looked as if we were in for a nice day. The smell of fresh coffee, and bacon frying in the pan, enticed me down to the galley to see what I could get to eat. Most everyone was ready for breakfast, though some people that we hadn’t often seen during the “rough-water days” did not appear.

During our first cup of coffee, the Captain began telling us a little history of the M. S. Boxer. Originally it was an eighty-five foot sailing ship with two masts and lots of beam. The masts were taken off and the lines, used in connection with the sails, were removed. A large diesel motor was installed for power and the ship was renamed the M. S. Boxer.

We were carrying a cargo of lumber and building supplies, enough for the three schoolhouses that were to be built somewhere further north. “That,” explained the captain, “was one of the reasons we rolled so much while crossing the gulf.” I think he was apologizing for the rough trip.

That morning the sea was as calm as a millpond. This was to be a good run: the sun was out and we were close enough to land to enjoy the rugged mountains of the peninsula. It was a good day to spend on deck and, for the first time, all the passengers had assembled there as a group. We found chairs, and soon one of the men came out with throw-blankets for everyone. There were three couples and myself, the only single person of the group.

We were all beginning teachers and this was our first assignment. Sitting there on deck we had fun telling how we were going to start the first few days of school.

From my position on the deck, I saw the First Mate go to the ship’s railing, point seaward and exclaim, “There she blows.” Our group did not notice his action, but being from the Puget Sound, I knew he was referring to a whale spouting.

I went over to the railing to scan the open sea. Sure enough, a whale spouted again. I could not keep the excitement from my voice as I called to the others, who immediately lined up along the ship’s railing. Right on schedule the whale broke the surface and sent up a stream of water, like a small kid playing with a large fire hose. Then arching his back and raising his flukes high in the air, he returned to deep water. He never showed again. Perhaps he was in a hurry to reach California.

Later in the afternoon, we began to notice birds on the water. They were short fat-bodied birds with heavy orange beaks. They looked something like puffins. Our attention was drawn to them because of their numbers, literally thousands of them. This mass of birds stretched as far as we could see on the shore side of the ship, and clear to the horizon on the other side. They were so tightly packed together that there was no room for an individual bird to get out of the water to fly. Those that did attempt to take off and fly did so by running on the backs of their neighbors.

I went up to the bow of the ship to look over at them. They did not make any attempt to escape the oncoming ship. I returned to the stern to see what was happening there. The birds came bobbing back up just like kids having fun in the swimming pool.

Our calm seas and windless weather continued through the late afternoon and evening, and the day concluded with a beautiful sunset. As the stars came out to twinkle in the twilight, I began to think it was shut-eye time for me. The others retired to the galley to use one of the tables for a friendly game of cards.

A change in the sound of the ship’s motor and a clanking of the anchor chains awakened me and I looked out my window. It was still very dark outside, but I could hear the voices of people working. I dressed and stepped out on the deck. The captain was standing by the bridge, so I approached and asked “Is this Nushugak?”

“No, this is Egegik,” he replied and continued to look at me: “Is your name Arnold?”

“Goodness me, what have I done now?” I wondered.

“I received a telegram from the Juneau office,” continued the captain. “The plan for you has been changed. I was instructed to put you ashore here at Egegik. A plane will pick you up and fly you to Iliamna. You have been reassigned to the school at Iliamna on Iliamna Lake.” Then he turned to the passengers standing on the deck and, in a loud voice, announced: “Egegik, everyone going ashore at Egegik report with your baggage to the starboard deck.”

I rushed back to my stateroom, put on my long winter overcoat (civilian style), checked the locks on my suitcase, grabbed my bedroll, and started for the door. Oh, yes! My new Alaskan hat purchased in Juneau only last week.

Reporting to the right side of the ship, I saw they were already lowering baggage down to the shore boat. I turned to the First Mate, in charge of operations on the deck: “Go down the Jacob’s Ladder,” he said. “I will send your baggage down.”

“How about my gun?” I asked.

“Your gun has gone aboard the shore boat already,” he replied.

I moved over to the railing and looked down at the ladder. Two large ropes combined with some smaller lines formed a Jacob’s Ladder. It did not look safe to me, but if that were the only way to Alaska, I would go down the ladder.

I found a good place on the shore boat, in front of the loaded baggage. It was sheltered by a piece of canvas. From there, I settled down to watch the crates, boxes and bags being lowered from the deck above.

As I sat there, watching all those boxes and bags of food coming down, I recalled my first interview with the representative for the Office of Indian Affairs back in Seattle. He told me that teachers going to the remote villages usually took their entire supply of groceries, clothing, etc. on the ship with them. For most villages in the north and northwest, there was only one boat during the year and this was that boat.

I checked my back pocket to make sure my billfold was still with me. I did not need to look inside it. I knew that my last ten-dollar bill was still there. What was I doing going ashore, here in some unknown place, with only one lone ten-dollar bill to my name? Winter was coming soon, too—I could sense it in the morning air. The thought that there was no way back continued to plague me.

Finally, the last crate came down the line and the second mate descended the rope ladder. Orders were given to cast off and the lines to the shore boat were dropped on deck as the motor took over, but before we had gotten a boat’s length away the captain called, “Do you have a compass?”

“No,” came the reply. “The stars are out and the ship’s light is on.”

“Ahoy! You are going in the wrong direction. That light we saw on shore was back this way.” The captain was pointing in the opposite direction, and his voice sounded as if he were a little disturbed. “You are going the wrong way!”

The boat turned around, but the fog was moving in and soon we could see neither the stars nor the lights of the ship.

“White water ahead!” called the lookout from his station in the bow of the boat. The Mate turned the boat sharply to the right and the lookout sounded with the lead line.

“One mark,” he responded to the Mate. We were in a little over six feet of water.

“Keep a sharp lookout,” replied the Mate as he instructed the engineer to shut the engine down to half speed. We continued to cruise along at half speed, keeping close watch on the white water, which indicated breakers on the beach. The black shrubbery just beyond the white water told us we were in very close to land. The Mate spoke up, “I think we are going in the wrong direction,” to which we all agreed. He turned the boat around and we followed the white water, back along the beach.

“I think I see a light over there,” said the lookout, pointing to some taller shrubs above the beach line. The Mate turned the boat around once more and we retraced our route. Passing the group of taller trees, we saw the light once again. It seemed to be from a window in a building. The boat slowed down to a drift.

“Here’s the river. We are in the river,” shouted the lookout. With a little skill in seamanship the mate brought the boat around, and at last we were heading upstream. The water was still very shallow, but not too swift. Soon after starting up river, the lookout called again in a cheerful voice, “I see a building,” and immediately called again, “I see a dock and a man standing there.”

“Who are you, and from what ship?” the man demanded. Apparently he was unaware of our ship anchored some distance offshore. He held his lantern over the side of the dock so we could see a place to tie up by the ladder leading up to the dock. No Jacob’s ladder this time. Passengers, followed by the crew, climbed up onto the dock.

A few words of introduction were exchanged, followed by a short lecture, including some choice Alaskan adjectives on what he thought about a boat coming up the river at low tide, and in the middle of the night.

“Well, why don’t you all come up to the bunkhouse?” He continued, “The cook has the coffeepot on. We heard you cruising around out there, and knew that eventually we would be having visitors. It’s a little tricky, finding the river’s mouth at low tide, especially in the middle of the night.” All of this welcoming conversation continued as we followed our guide around the cannery buildings, walking on a raised wooden walkway.

The scene in the kitchen was very welcome. Not only had the cook fixed us a cup of coffee, but there was also a full Alaskan breakfast waiting for us: sourdough pancakes, bacon, hash browns, and a second cup of coffee with milk from the familiar can with the two holes punched in the top. During the meal, we learned we were not in Egegik, but at the Alaska Packer’s Cannery. The village of Egegik and the school was on the other side of the river; their cannery was the Alaska Red Salmon Cannery.

“I had your baggage and freight unloaded here on our dock,” he said. “There will be a boat coming from the other side soon to take you across. Everything up this way is regulated by the tide. ‘Time and tide waits for no man.’”

We thanked the cook for breakfast and followed our guide back around the cannery buildings on the boardwalk. It was daylight now, and a glance out over the bay showed that our ship had left during the night. I felt a queer feeling developing inside. The last connection with home was gone and I felt that I would be alone in Alaska from now on.

As we approached the boat dock, we saw that the tide was in and the river full of water. The boat was riding high, even with the dock, and men were loading our things on to a smaller boat. There was no need for the rope lines and a ladder. We could step from the dock right onto the boat. A different crew of men, who had come across the river with a small boat, did the work of loading.

We stepped from the dock onto the small boat. I noticed an open square hole in the floor of the wheelhouse, right in front of where the person manning the steering wheel was to stand. When the men were through loading, the owner of the boat came on board. He took his position in front of the steering wheel and, glancing down at the square hole in the floor and extending his right foot into the opening, secured a firm footing on the flywheel of the engine below and gave an energetic downward push. The engine, without hesitation, responded with a familiar put-put-put.

With the tide high, the river was full from bank to bank and was quite different from the waterway that we navigated the night before. The lines to the small boat were released, the workmen jumped aboard, and we were off to Egegik.

As we approached the dock, it seemed as if the entire population of the village was down to greet us. I learned later that that was the custom in Alaska: every new arrival, whether their approach was by boat or plane, was greeted in such a way.

When we stepped from the boat to the dock, those standing closest backed off a short distance, forming a semicircle around us.

The owner of the boat acted as our host. “Ladies and gentlemen. This is Mr. and Mrs. Williams, our new schoolteachers. This gentleman standing here will have to speak for himself.”

I told them who I was and that I was expecting a plane in soon to take me to Iliamna. When I mentioned a plane was coming, the village children were so excited that they jumped and clapped to express their joy.

I noticed a young white man standing in back of the group who caught my attention because he was much taller than those around him. He made his way over to me, shook my hand, and said his name was John. He also said he was the “winter man” for the cannery here in Egegik. When he stood along side of me, I realized he was about my age.

We chatted for a while and he finally asked where I was going. When I mentioned Iliamna Lake he became quite interested. “Oh, you are going to a good place. You are lucky. Iliamna is a big lake and you will be on the north shore. I have stopped there many times on my way to Anchorage. It’s about halfway, and the planes usually stop there for gas going either to or from Anchorage.”

This news cheered me up some, and I felt much better. I asked John when the afternoon plane would be in.

“Planes do not operate on schedule here in Alaska.”

“How do you know when to expect a plane?”

“Oh! The dogs will tell us. They have a song which they always sing whenever a plane is coming.”

“Dogs that sing and talk to people? What kind of place was this?” I wondered to myself.

Picking up a box with one arm and holding a bag under the other, John said in a commanding voice, “Let’s go over to the school house, folks.”

One could tell by the tone of his voice that he was the number one man for the local cannery. Every man there and the older boys picked up a box or a crate. We followed John on the boardwalk back to the schoolhouse. It was easy to spot, a typical one-room school building standing just back of a cluster of other buildings.

Boardwalks were the important link in the village of Egegik. They extended to almost any place a person would like to go. The area was swampy and wet. It appeared that all of the larger buildings and houses were supported by pilings set in the marshy soil.

Across the boardwalk was a small building boasting in large letters, “U.S. Post Office.” Several chairs were standing in front of each building. I could picture in my mind, on nice sunny days, the older men of the community gathered there to discuss the politics of the community. Soon they would be discussing the new teachers.

As we passed the post office a man came out and asked, “Which one of you is named Arnold.” I acknowledged the name, and he handed me a letter. Oh No! Not another transfer or change of assignment! I slipped the letter into my back pocket, hoping no one had noticed.

We created an interesting procession as we followed the boardwalk on to the schoolhouse. All the able-bodied men and older boys were carrying something from the dock. My suitcase and bedroll was mixed in with everything else.

The little girls wanted to walk with Mrs. Williams (Betty). “Can we come to school tomorrow?” was the question most frequently asked.

John had the key to the schoolhouse and everyone tried to be first through the door. The schoolroom had recently been used as a social room. The desks and chairs were all pushed against the four walls leaving plenty of space in the middle of the room.

“Pile everything here,” said John, pointing to the center of the room.

Betty merely glanced at the things being delivered. Her first concern was “Where do we live?” She began opening doors. The kitchen was first, large enough to also serve as a dining room. Then she found two bedrooms, and began to size up storage space.

Meanwhile, the young people continued to question: “Can we come to school tomorrow, teacher?”

Mr. Williams (Bill) was busily getting acquainted with some of the men of the village. There were two in particular who were interested in the same sport as Bill. They were John and Henry, the owners of the local store.

When the subject of guns came up, Bill told them he had a new 30-06 among the boxes on the schoolroom floor. I informed them I also had a new gun. My 30-06 was a Savage and Bill’s gun was a Remington, so a search was made for a box containing a Remington rifle. The search did not take long. The new gun was removed from its box and admired by the three men.

“I’ll tell you what I will do,” said Henry, the store man. “You will have no use for a rifle like this here in Egegik. All they shoot here is ducks, geese and a few ptarmigan. I have a new Winchester — never been used. I will trade you even up, my shotgun for your 30-06 rifle.” The three men left to complete the deal in the store.

Soon the excitement of seeing the new teachers wore off and the willing helpers began to drift away, a few at a time, until Betty and I were the only ones left. Betty said, “Maybe I should fix some lunch. Bill will be back soon.”

We looked over the stack of supplies, and found a box of soup. I helped her open the box and she took a can out to the kitchen. She found a pan, and went over to the sink for water. Oops! There was no water. I volunteered to go turn the water on.

I walked around the building twice finding no place to turn on the water. Could it be inside where it would not freeze? I went back to the kitchen to check around the sink. There was no drainpipe connected to the sink, only a five-gallon can placed there to catch the water.

Then it began to dawn on me that this place did not have running water. I did not tell Betty the news of my discovery yet, she was having enough problems. I began to have more suspicions. I went around carefully opening doors. I was right, there was no indoor plumbing and no indoor bathroom. Opening one door, I did find a surprise, a flight of steps going down to a basement room.

There, from the light of the open door, I saw a pump. It was an old-fashioned water pump like the one I grew up with on the farm. I went down the steps and began working the pump handle. After two or three strokes, I heard water pouring into a tank from somewhere above.

Returning to the kitchen, I found that Betty had a pot of soup heating on the stove. She thanked me for turning on the water. Bill was returning from the store with his new shotgun, and he was as happy as a kid at Christmas time with a new toy. During lunch I told them they had a basement room with a good old-fashioned water pump. Bill thought I was talking about some antique thing down in the basement.

After lunch I was busy looking for my suitcase, gun, and sleeping quarters, when I overheard Betty say, “Bill, we will have to do something about the drain for the kitchen sink. It doesn’t work.” I thought this was a good time to check out the town a little more.

Where was the airport? I had never flown in a plane, but I knew they had to come down somewhere. I saw John sitting in one of the chairs in front of the Post Office. That would be a good place to begin. I strolled over and accepted an invitation to have a chair.

I began by asking about the airport. “Where do the planes land here in Egegik?”

John let out a good hearty laugh. “Man, there are only three airports in Alaska: Anchorage, Fairbanks, and Nome. During the summer they all fly with pontoons and during the winter they use skis.”

Continuing, I asked, “This plane that I am expecting, will it have pontoons? Where will it land? Or is land the right word to use for something using pontoons?”

John looked at me with an expression that said, “Well, where has this guy been all of his life?”

Though I was still puzzling over the mention of the town’s dogs singing upon the arrival of a plane, I was afraid to ask any more stupid questions and decided to keep quiet.

On Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday I was up early to scan the skies in the morning and later on in the afternoon, but no plane appeared and no dog said a word.

There were two beautiful dogs living between the schoolhouse and the Post Office. Each morning I asked them, “When does your choir practice?” or some other equally meaningless remark, but they continued to sleep on top of their doghouses, ignoring me.

On Saturday, however, as I started my morning walk, the big dog closest to the school building lifted his head and, looking me straight in the eye, began a low rumble in his throat that increased in volume and went up to the scale’s higher notes. His companion, sitting on top of his doghouse, lifted his head and joined in with a strong alto voice. Soon every dog in the village was up on top of his or her doghouse, with its head in the air, singing.

I saw John coming down the boardwalk at a run. He called, “The plane will be here in about five minutes.” I turned back to the school to pick up my things. I did not think the Williams’s were up yet. Everyone was hurrying down to the dock. I hurried, too, along with everyone else. The plane, making a terrific noise, flew by and showed no sign of stopping.

I remarked to John, “He didn’t stop!” I could not keep the fear of being left behind from my voice.

Dear old John turned to me with a big smile and said, “He will be back. They always come in low to look over the landing spot. They do not want some boat out there in the way just at the critical moment of setting down.”

John was right, as usual. The plane returned with a roar, its two big pontoons extending out front just like a duck making a landing. It scooted along with its “feet” on the surface until its momentum was used up, then settled back on its pontoons to coast up to the dock. It was a four-seater Cessna plane.

There was one man riding with the pilot in the front seat and a load of something occupying the third seat. The pilot got out, opened the door and offered me the remaining seat. He put my bags somewhere, then climbed back in and we were off in less than five minutes. I was a little disappointed not to have time to tell the Williams’s goodbye. “Pilots and airplanes—as well as time and tide—wait for no man.”

I was pleased at how smoothly the plane took off, and amazed at the clarity of objects on the ground as we flew over. We had not been in the air long before I became aware of a large amount of water beneath us and realized that we were flying over Iliamna Lake. I recalled having heard it described as a large lake and found myself in agreement with that assesment.

It was not long until I sensed that the plane was descending. The shoreline of the lake was coming up at us fast. Before I could comprehend where we were, the pilot tipped the plane and said as he pointed out of the right window, “There it is.” These were the only words he had spoken to me since leaving Egegik.

I looked. A lone white building was down there. There were no other buildings, no houses, no roads, no trails, and no sign of any activity. There was only one lone building. I had seen similar lonely houses out on the plains of South Dakota.

The plane lifted a little to gain altitude, then circled back to make a landing a little farther along the lake’s shore. I had a glimpse of three buildings associated with the main building, and two houses along the beach line, which seemed to comprise the regular landing on Iliamna Lake. I remembered John’s words about how lucky I was to be assigned there.

The plane taxied up to a float dock and a boy, using a small line, made us fast to the float. The pilot stepped out onto the dock and opened the door for me to get out. He reached behind the seat where I had been sitting and set my suitcase, bedroll, and gun on the float dock. Shaking hands with me, he said, “I’ll be back when the ice is in.”

The boy untied the line on the pontoon and gave the plane a push with his foot. The engine started as the plane drifted from the dock, then with a roar the aircraft took off for Anchorage. Standing on the floating dock, I looked around. Well, I had asked for it, and this must be the place, but there was no sign of a village. I couldn’t even see the school building over which we had just flown.

Part 1 - Go North Young Man
M.S. Boxer Iliamna Lake	Lake Clark Nondalton	Arctic Wainwright	Map of Alaska Home