The Rest of the Story

Back to Wainwright

The midnight sun was reflecting from the Duck Pond on Point Barrow as we said, “Hi!” to our team of seven dogs and started on our homeward trek from Barrow back to Wainwright. We had spent a very pleasant weekend with our host, the Rev. Mr. and Mrs. Klerekoper, missionaries for the Presbyterian Church.  We had said our farewells to others and were off for an early start on our seventy-mile sleigh ride back to Wainwright.  Time did not seem the same up here in the North Country where the sun was up twenty-four hours a day.  Our hosts were just going to bed as we started our early Monday morning run. 

We started early to take advantage of the morning frost on the trail.  Even though the sun is shining, there is always a little ice that forms each summer day between midnight and six or seven in the morning.  This was going to be a good day to travel.  The sky was clear.  There was no wind and the team knew we were on the trail home.  However seventy miles was going to be a hard run. Long before the high banks of Wainwright could be seen, the dogs’ tails would be down and their pace would be much slower.

As we crossed over the point of land forming Franklin Point, I stepped off of the back runners of the sled and ran ahead of the team.  I think it always cheered them up a little to have me run with them.  It was not very long until we were across the sand dunes and back on the smooth ocean ice again.  Fortunately for us there were numerous bays formed by the action of the winds and ocean currents that were not affected by the action of the heavy ice of the main arctic ice pack.  These stretches of clear ice along the shore were the first to thaw in the late spring or early summer.  They opened up passageways for small boats to navigate from place to place before the heavy ice broke up in August. The polar ice pack did not melt but broke up into large masses of moving ice floes that were taken by the polar currents over the North Pole and eventually out into the North Atlantic Ocean.

As we trotted along (dog-team speed) we checked the skyline of the sand cliffs along the beach. Finally we spotted our goal - a stone marker put up by a group of men from Oklahoma, marking the place where Wiley Post and Will Roger’s plane crashed several years ago.  It has become a common stopping place marking the trail, about half way between Wainwright and Barrow.  It was time for us to have a cup of hot coffee and a donut and give the dogs a rest.  Yes, they had a little snack too. 

The dogs always used these rest stops for a chance to work over their feet and lick the ice out from between their toes.  On long trips during colder weather we carried “dog socks” made of heavy canvas to be tied on their feet if the trail was icy.

“Well! Rest stop is over. Lets go!” You have to be on the sled and holding on tight before you can say that to a team.  They all start with a synchronized leap and seven big dogs have a lot of combined power.  Our little show of enthusiasm did not last long.  Dorothy was on the back runners and I was comfortably seated on the sled enjoying the smooth ride and watching the shoreline. 

There were many black Brant (small geese) along the shoreline waiting for the ice to thaw so we knew that our dog team trips were about over for the season.  The sun was moving across the sky overhead and I could tell by the drooping tails of the team that we should be seeing the hills of home before long.  Feeling sorry for the dogs I jumped off the sled again, and took a turn at running ahead of them.  Dorothy did her part by running behind the sled, holding on to the handles. It wasn’t long until I noticed an odor of smoke in the air.  The dogs picked up the scent of smoke, too, and knew that home was near.  They called on their reserve of energy. With a burst of speed and riding in good form we swept through the village and up to the door of the school building.  It had been seventy miles in one long run. We didn’t look at our watches, but the sun was still shining over in the north.  It must have been close to midnight. 

The neighbor’s dogs did not bark or make a sound.  They may have recognized us as the teachers coming home late.  While I unhitched the team, and gave them their well-earned supper, Dorothy started the cook stove and I could soon hear the coffee pot burping. We both were too tired to eat.  The strong coffee did not keep us awake that night.

About noon the noise from the activities of the village disturbed us and we began to think about breakfast.  Getting the big coal stove burning in the living room was the first task on my list for the day.  This was the first time there had been no live coals or spark of color in the grates since last August.  It would be a good time to shake down the ashes and check the grates in the fire chamber.  I gave the kitchen stove the same treatment.  Soon both stoves were going well, and the house began to feel warm and comfortable again.  This was only the last of June and we were too far north to think about summertime yet. 

From force of habit, I checked my short-wave radio, and sure enough Barrow was calling Wainwright to see if we were home safely.  I returned the call, stating all was well and we were just ready for breakfast.  But we were not eating until about twelve o’clock. 

As we were enjoying our sourdough pancakes, we saw two teams come in from out on the ice fields.  Then we knew why the town had been so quiet the night before.  The men and their dog teams were all out, hunting seal.  The hunters keep different hours than we who live by the clock.  They leave early Monday morning and go out on the ice.  The heavy ocean ice is breaking up into large moving floes this time of year.  The hunters keep moving from one ice floe to another until Wednesday noon.  Then they come home, wash and clean up, eat a little and go to Wednesday evening church.  Afterwards they sleep from Wednesday evening until Sunday morning.  After church they get ready to go out on the moving ice fields again, and are on the move until Wednesday.  There is no forty-hour week for the average Eskimo seal hunter.  They have to be tough to take the life they live.

As we began to rally after breakfast, the postmaster sent a note that a small plane had been in during our absence and left some first class mail.  I lost no time in going over to check with the postmaster.  The obliging pilot was the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service agent making a routine call.  Most of the first class mail that the pilot had brought was for the school or the school nurse, who had remained in Barrow for a few more days.

In the mail were two important letters. The first one I opened simply said, “Due to the political complications developing in Europe we suggest the large letters on the roof of the school which read, WAINWRIGHT be removed.  Obtain appropriate colored paint and do whatever is necessary to remove the lettering.”  We were shocked beyond asking why!  We were proud of the name and liked the sign on the roof proclaiming this was Wainwright. 

Two years ago, Dorothy and I both were thrilled when we first heard the jingle of the bell in the engineer’s room signaling the engineer to slow the engines. We rushed out on deck of the North Star to see the reason for the signal.  There was WAINWRIGHT spelled out in big six-foot white letters on the roof of the school building that was to be our home for the next two years.  It is the first structure that can be identified on the coastline after leaving Point Hope, going north along the coast.  Airplane pilots also used it as a reference point on their charts as they passed over going north.  However, orders are orders so I spent the rest of the week painting out the beautiful white letters identifying who and where we were. 

There were many questions by local people.  The most difficult ones to answer were from the local Postmaster, Ben Evens and the local Marshal, Jim Allen.  Also, nurse Keaton, Dick Hall and the Manager of the Native Store, who had returned from the trip to Barrow on Monday about noon, all wondered what was going on. 

Keaton’s first words were, “What happened to WAINWRIGHT?”  I had only one answer for everyone, “I don’t know, I was instructed to paint the name off of the schoolhouse roof.”

The second letter from our Juneau Office gave Dorothy and me something to think about.  It started off by telling us what a good job we had been doing both in Deering and at Wainwright and how they appreciated us filling these rather remote posts.  Then came the real punch.  There was going to be a vacancy on Kodiak Island, near the principal town of Kodiak.  The place is known as Ouzinkie, located on a small island very near the big island of Kodiak.  The school is a three-teacher school formerly under the Territorial School System of Alaska.  The principal industry of Ouzinkie is salmon fishing.  There is a large modern salmon cannery there. 

“If you would be interested after returning from your three months annual leave please let us know.”  I looked at Dorothy and she looked at me with the same expression on her face.  Were we planning on a three-month vacation this summer?  Her answer was, “I have never heard of a Kodiak Island.  Is it farther north?  Ouzinkie!  Couldn’t they come up with a better name?”

We had two questions to resolve.  (1) Do we want to take our three-month leave this coming summer?  It was almost the first of July now.  (2) Do we want to leave the Arctic so soon?  We discussed the problem for two days before coming up with an answer that seemingly was the most logical one. 

We notified the Juneau Office that we would consider starting our vacation leave on the next trip south on the North Star, and we accepted the recommendation for a transfer to Ouzinkie in time to start school.  It was rather a long message to tap out on my homemade transmitter which my brother, Liston, put together for me when we moved to Deering.  The government radioman at Barrow received our message and relayed it on to Juneau.

We waited a week for the reply.  Finally a message came through on our regular Tuesday evening radio schedule.  “Transfer to Ouzinkie approved.  Stop. Vacation as scheduled approved. Stop. Expense of transfer, Seattle to Ouzinkie approved.  Stop.  SS Redwood replacing North Star when ice conditions are favorable.  Stop.

Neither one of our “old timers” had ever heard of a ship named, the SS Redwood.  The subject of what the SS Redwood was going to be like, and what had happened to our North Star was the topic of discussion for days.  Running a close second was the talk about who was going to put money on a wager predicting the exact date of the arctic ice-pack break up which would drift north over the North Pole and into the north Atlantic Ocean. With in a few days Keaton, our nurse, announced her intentions of going outside too.  Going outside or down below was a common term used throughout Alaska meaning to go to the States for a short vacation.  I handled her request for a vacation leave through my short wave radio.

Dick Hall, owner of one of the stores, decided that he, too, would go outside even though he didn’t have a reservation. 

“I’ll just go aboard, go down in the kitchen and start peeling potatoes, or washing up the pans for the cook. Once the ship is under way what’s the captain going to do about it?” he asked.

When the seal hunters came in from the floating ice floes they reported seeing walrus on the moving ice.  They also said the size of the ice floes was becoming smaller with a lot of open water between them which made conditions hazardous for the seal hunters.  They were all safely home at last and were now sitting out on the grassy bank in the warm sunshine watching the coastal ice.  The women were busy skinning the seals brought in during the last trip the men had made. 

We were making use of every minute packing our personal things and keeping watch over our shoulder at the moving ice floes out on the vast Arctic Ocean.  We feared the SS Redwood would find an opening in the ice floe and show up early without warning.  The nurse, Keaton, shared our concern also. 

Dick Hall was not concerned about the Redwood coming in early.  “There is still too much ice out there.  No captain, if he is any good at all, would bring his ship up through all of that ice.” 

One morning, the first week in July, we looked out early at the Arctic Ocean, clear and blue, sparkling in the morning sunshine.  Down the beach line, a short way south of the village, were a group of men making ready to launch the Native Store’s powerboat; the only powerboat in the village.  While Dorothy and I were finishing our breakfast and enjoying the view out to sea, there was a knock on our kitchen door. When I answered it there stood the manager of the Native Store. 

He led off with a question, “Would you like to go walrus hunting with us, Mr. Arnold”?  Before I could answer, he added, “Wear your heavy parka.” 

“Fix me something to eat please and put it in a brown bag.  Where is my heavy parka?” I asked Dorothy. 

“Your parka is rolled up in that last sea-bag we packed and your gun is still where you keep it out in the entry way.  You had better check on some bullets while you are at it,” she responded.  I was expecting an argument from Dorothy, but it seemed she wanted me to go. 

Putting a handful of 30-30 shells in my parka pocket, and checking on my camera and gun, I said to the waiting store manager,  “Let’s go!” 

“Hadn’t you better pick up your lunch too?” said the man very calmly. Dorothy and Keaton walked with us down to the powerboat to see us off. 

Dorothy said,  “If the SS Redwood comes in before you get back, I’ll tell the captain you are out hunting and will catch the next boat going south.”

With that cheery goodbye, I climbed on board.  A local man following me carried something in a small wooden box.  He remarked, “Here is the compass.”  I remembered sometime later that he had placed the box containing the compass next to the battery.

“All ready?  Let’s push off,” said the store manager.  He seemed to be the one in charge.  The single cylinder engine started with the usual “put, put, put”, and we took a course straight from the beach out to sea. 

We had six large umiaks (Eskimo skin-covered boats) in tow.  There was a light fog moving in.  Soon we lost sight of land, as the fog became thicker. Within an hour some of the men said they could hear dogs barking.  The man at the engine stopped the engine so we could hear.  Sure enough there were dogs barking!  Dogs - out here eight or nine miles offshore?  We all looked at each other and at the person at the wheel.  Something was wrong.  The fog lifted a little and a man in the stern of the boat called out, “LAND!”  We drifted some more.  The men in the boat could not believe what they were seeing.  Land out here? 

In a few minutes the same man in the stern called again.  “There is a house!  There is Wainright!  We are back home already.”

We had made a large circle back to the beach again.  In all of the excitement every one forsook their English and talked in their native tongue.  Then I remembered the man who placed the compass next to the boat’s battery.  I tapped the pilot at the wheel on the shoulder and pointed to the battery. 

“Oh my, oh my,” was all he could say, and grabbing the compass box he moved it over to the other side of the boat.  We had lost over an hour traveling in a big circle. The motor was started, and every one had a good laugh, except for the man who had brought the compass on board.  We were off to sea once more. This time with the compass working correctly we held our course straight out from the beach at Wainwright for about eight hours. 

We began to encounter heavy ice.  If the surface of the free-floating ice was one foot above the water we estimated there was at least eight feet of ice below the surface level.  The ice floes here were about eighteen inches above the surface of the water.  We selected one floe because it had some extra ice slabs on it forming an elevated lookout point.  Here we had a good view of a large section of the arctic ice field.  There were clumps of sleeping walrus on most every section of ice as far as we could see.  We selected one group of animals because they had chosen the center of their chunk of ice on which to sleep.  Their sleeping couch was about the size of a football field.

The launch and five of the large ‘umiaks’ were left in charge of one of the men.  Eight men including myself got into the sixth ‘umiak’ boat that our launch had brought with us.  We were all armed with 30-30 rifles. Additionally, I had my movie camera.  Every one except me found a canoe paddle near their station and began paddling over to the large ice flow where the walrus were sleeping.  We were told, in a quiet whisper, to first shoot the big ones on the bottom layer but to avoid hitting their ivory tusks.

It felt as if I were with a band of old-time pirates, sneaking up on innocent victims.  Our ‘umiak’ was brought right up to the edge of the ice floe.  The sleeping walrus were only a few yards away.  There was time to take careful aim.  At the command to “Fire” there was a roar of guns.  I emptied the magazine of my gun too and grabbed for my camera. 

Immediately following the first blast there was a second command and plenty loud, “GET THIS BOAT UP ON THE ICE --AND QUICK”!   We all quickly responded to that command.  “GET THOSE POLES TOO!” 

I had noticed a number of long poles in the bottom of the boat as we paddled over.  The uninjured walrus dived into the water.  Then quickly they were back, and they were mad!  They were ready to fight.  The walrus reached up with their tusks to pull themselves up on the ice.  The men with the poles placed the ends of the poles against the walrus’ noses and pushed them back off of the ice.  They were attacking from two sides.  As fast as the men could push them from one side more were climbing up on the other side.  We could have used a few more men and more poles.  The battle had lasted about ten minutes, when the walrus finally gave up and swam away.  They all quit at the same time as if someone of them was in charge and gave the command to retreat. There were twenty dead walrus on the ice when the signal was given to bring the launch and the empty ‘umiaks’ over.

The men went to work immediately on the kill.  Long bladed sharp butcher knives appeared. They cut through the tough walrus hide with very little effort. One man was busy throwing the chunks of meat into the boats.

The manager of the Native Store saw me standing idly by and said, “You have seen all of the interesting action, why don’t you go to the boat and find a good spot out of the wind.  We will be through with this part pretty soon.” 

Never was a more welcome statement made.  I tried to estimate the time of day.  I think it was some time Wednesday, maybe Wednesday afternoon.  I remembered I was up early Monday morning.  Also I remembered I was a schoolteacher used to working from eight until five! 

“Where is that launch and a sheltered spot?” I wondered to myself.

To this day I cannot recall what happened next.  When I woke up and became aware of things around me, I found I was sleeping on the beach gravel beneath the shelter of an up-turned ‘umiak’.  There were men working around the five ‘umiaks’, loaded with meat, pulled up on the beach line.  There was no launch to be seen.  Glancing up at the sun, I estimated it must be about Thursday morning.  I asked the first man that came by where we were.

He said, “The wind came up last night and we had to make for shore.  We got all of the boats with the meat up on shore, but the launch was swamped.” 

Where was I during all of this action?  I remembered going to sleep on the launch, sitting by the engine, and waking up to find myself on the beach under an up-turned umiak.  (The light began to dawn.)

“The launch had swamped,” he had said.  My gun and movie camera must be at the bottom of the ocean!  How was it that I am wearing my heavy winter parka, and it is still dry?  I looked for the Manager of the Native Store.  He gave about the same report as the first man. 

“We were lucky to save the five boats of meat,” he said.  Then he added, “I think we will be able to pull out the launch when the wind and water go down.  We are only about four miles up the beach from Wainwright.” 

“Well, there isn’t much I can do here,” I said. “ I just might as well walk home.”

Dorothy and Keaton were just finishing lunch when I opened the kitchen door and called, “I’m here!” 

They both jumped up from the table and came running. 

“Where did you did you come from?”  They both asked together. 

“Fix me something to eat please and I’ll tell you,” was my response.

Between bites, I told them about the ice floe being covered with walrus and that we had taken only twenty of them.  Sometime during the trip home, the wind came up to give us a bad time.  We were lucky to be close enough to shore to get the five boatloads of meat pulled up on the beach above the waves.  While working to save the valuable meat, the launch drifted sideways in the breakers rolling in and was swamped.  I did not tell them that I was asleep during the whole procedure and had to be carried out of the launch and brought ashore in the spare umiak.  That story would be told by all of the hunters after I was long gone on the SS Redwood. 

Some time later that same evening there was a knocking on the kitchen door.  Dorothy answered it this time.  There stood the manager of the Native Store.  He handed her a gun and my movie camera.  “These are Mr. Arnold’s.  Is he all right?” He asked.

“He came home hungry,” is all she said.  Well, so much for hunting walrus on the floating arctic ice.  I discovered that I could not be out on the ice for three days without some sleep.  I felt as if I could sleep from Wednesday until Sunday morning.  Dorothy reminded me that with the ice out, the SS Redwood could come in any time.  She was right too.

Within the week, Felix, Dick Hall’s young helper knocked on our door.  He was so excited he forgot to use his English, but Dorothy could make out what he was trying to say,  “There is a big ship out there.” 

“Did you see it?” Dorothy asked. 

“No, but Dick can see it with his telescope.  He is up there on the roof.”

It was time for us to go see Dick.  Felix was doing a good job of spreading the word around.  We saw nurse Keaton, hurrying ahead of us on her way to Dick’s store and there was trader Jim Allen, coming this way too.  He and Dick did not speak to each other unless there was a big occasion to do so.  By the time we gathered at Dick Hall’s, we could see the incoming ship without the use of Dick’s powerful telescope.  It must be the expected SS Redwood! 

The steamship came in slowly.  There was only one funnel and it was putting forth a cloud of black smoke.  We could see a seaman on the prow of the ship using a lead line checking the depth of the water.  The ship continued to drift in without power.  Then there was a big splash as the anchor was dropped overboard.  The ship was in port.

A small boat was lowered and a number of people came down the Jacob’s ladder and on to the shore boat to come ashore.  Fortunately we were experiencing good weather with an offshore breeze.  There was very little surf on the sandy beach.  The ship’s boat pulled up to the beach and the passengers stepped ashore without getting their feet wet. 

The captain was the first to step on shore.  Strange to say, Dick recognized the captain as a young man he knew back in the gold rush of ‘98.  Dick could not remember just where, but he was sure he was the same man who had worked on some boat back then.  The purser was next with a clipboard of items to be checked off.  Among those disembarking from the shore boat were the two people we were expecting.

Dorothy and Keaton were bold enough to introduce themselves, and sure enough they were the new teachers who would be replacing us - Mr. and Mrs. Webb.  I was next to greet them and extend our welcome to Wainwright.  Keaton was the first to suggest that they come on up to the house to see where they would be living.  It was Keaton who had greeted us with a big hug for Dorothy and a warm handshake for me on this very spot on the beach two years ago.

As we left the beach, I stayed a little behind the others and caught Dick’s eye.  “Please have Felix round up some boys to bring Keaton’s and our things down to the beach, ready to go aboard.” I said. 

Dick’s reply was, “I already have a crew, and your things are here now on the wet sand ready to go.”  There is nothing like having caring friends, and we were sorry to leave them behind.

After giving the new teachers an overview of what they were moving into, we returned to the beach.  The crew from the Native Store was on the job with their big ‘umiaks’ bringing the cargo ashore.  The purser from the ship was meeting the boats coming in with their cargo.  He directed where each item should be stacked just above the waterline on the dry sand. There was a stack for the school and for the nurse, and one for each of the three stores.  The stacks were well separated so each trader could easily find what belonged to him.  There was also a little pile of baggage waiting to be taken aboard whenever the captain said it was time to go.

It seemed as if every able-bodied person was down on the beach to see the action. Those who didn’t make it down to the beach had comfortable seats on the grass up on the bank.

The ship had been in about two hours, and there were no more ‘umiaks’ bringing cargo ashore.  We saw the captain and purser meeting with the three local store men in a huddle over by the shore boat so we knew it was time for us to go on board.  Our traveling bags were already in the ship’s boat.

As we found our place in the boat, the Presbyterian Church Choir led off with the song “God Be With You ‘Till We Meet Again.”  It was a good choir and they sang well. Everyone on the beach joined in to sing their good-byes.  We could hear the music even after we had boarded the ship and returned on deck to wave goodbye once more.  The anchor was brought on board, and the mud washed off.  The big brass whistle blasted away, and the sturdy steam engine took over.  We were on our way.  We stood on deck to watch the town of Wainwright slip quietly away.  There were no big six-foot white letters on the roof of the school, telling everyone that this was Wainwright slipping away.  But we knew, and were taking the pleasant memories of Wainwright with us.          

Soon we were out on a quiet sea near the place where two weeks before there had been immense ice floes and walrus as far as the eye could see.    About dusk on the second day at sea in the Arctic Ocean, the slight roll of the ship indicated we were moving into some different water conditions. We could tell by the sound of the engine the captain had reduced our progress to half speed, but that did not help much.  The rolling motion increased so much that we were afraid to leave our room. We climbed into our bunks for safety.   Word from the captain informed us that we were passing through the Bering Straits.  Without a heavy load of cargo for ballast we were rolling uncomfortably.

At times the roll of the ship was such that when I looked out of the porthole over the foot of the bed, I could see down to the surface of the water.  Eventually the rolling stopped and we got some sleep.

Then the stillness of the ship wakened us. Glancing out our porthole we saw we were at anchor and there was Nome.  At breakfast in the dining room the captain announced we had had a problem with the engine the night before and would probably have to be cruising at half speed for the rest of the run into Seattle.  He also announced that there would be a boat going ashore after breakfast and suggested anyone who wished to do so could change their plans and find other means to complete their trip.  We, along with Keaton, made a hasty exit back to our room. 

On the way we met Dick Hall.  He said,  “Last night one of the main supports for the engine cracked.  The captain was afraid to put on full steam which could cause real trouble at sea.”  Dick was not leaving the ship.  He said, “Up here you don’t leave a man who is in trouble.  He might need help.” 

The ship’s boat took a course along the beach to the mouth of a small river where a harbor had been dredged for small boats.  Nome did not have a pier or dock where large ships could tie up.

Once on shore we called the U.S. Office of Indian Affairs.  Harvey Starling answered the phone.  He was well known to all of us from our days in Kotzebue.  “I’ll be right down to pick you up with the car,” was his enthusiastic reply.  Dorothy and Margaret Starling had been good friends back in Kotzebue.  We had stayed with them several times.  She was glad to see Dorothy again.  The Starlings had a nice house with two extra bedrooms.  When they learned of our plans to go into Fairbanks, Harvey was on the phone at once calling the airport for reservations.  There was a small Cessna plane leaving early in the morning with space for three.

Quickly I said, “We will take it.” 

Harvey had to go back to his office, but he left the car with Margaret.  We had an enjoyable afternoon seeing Nome and the surrounding community.  There were gold prospectors still working in the sand on the beach in front of the city.  Some were finding a little gold dust that washed up on the beach after each big storm.  We all went to a movie that night.  It was an old picture, but the popcorn was good.

Right after breakfast we hustled off to the airport with Harvey. “These little planes do not wait for any one,” he said.

The airport was not far from downtown.  There was a small plane waiting with the motor warming up.  Dorothy and Keaton were invited to get in the back seat and I climbed in the front seat with the pilot. 

The pilot said as he closed the doors, “It is going to be a nice day for flying.”    

From the Nome airport we flew east over to the Yukon River and followed it for most of the flight.  As the pilot had said, it was a good day for flying.  We had a view of the famous Yukon Valley that was an active setting in the Gold Rush days.  The mountains of the Brooks Range were on our left and Mount McKinley was on our right.  We were in Fairbanks in time for lunch, and checked in at the famous Nordic Hotel.

During the night an earthquake shook the city of Fairbanks. The old wooden frame building shook in all of its timbers.  Dorothy and I were on the second floor, and were up ready to make a run for it, but the shock waves passed; the old building survived the treatment once more.  Passing the desk on our way out the next morning the man at the desk asked, “How did you like our midnight special last night?” 

“Well, we were ready to run for it, but you quit too soon,” was our reply. 

We could see the railroad depot from the hotel, but it was too far to carry our baggage so we called a taxi.  Arriving at the train station, we found we were an hour or more too early to go on board.  The doors to the cars opened finally and we went aboard where we had our choice of seats.  Then there was another long wait while two or three more cars were added to make up our train.  One of the cars being added was a dining car.  It was almost noon when we heard the whistle blow, and felt the train begin to move.

The pilot had said yesterday,  “It’s a nice day for flying.”  Today would be a nice day for traveling by train.  As we left the Fairbanks area we looked to see if there was any evidence of last night’s earthquake, but nothing seemed to be disturbed.  Perhaps it was just a routine event for Fairbanks.

Our train tracks followed along a river for some time.  There were a few stops now and then to take on passengers or to leave a mailbag for some small community.  For the most part the countryside was low rolling hills with a few homesteads now and then. There was evidence of former mining operations all along the riverbank.  By mid afternoon our train left the river and began to climb into the foothills of the mountains.  Soon a man wearing a white jacket came through the car ringing a musical gong, saying dinner was ready in the dining room. Being from the back woods of Missouri I had to have the word dinner translated to me as meaning it was time for supper.  This was my first experience eating in a railroad diner.

In the dining car we overheard some people talking about an overnight stop.  We thought they were talking about leaving the train, and staying overnight or for a short time.  It was not long until the train stopped and the conductor came through the car saying, “Take all of your luggage with you. Don’t leave anything on the train.”  This was something unexpected for Dorothy and me.  We looked at Keaton with the expression of what is going on here? 

Keaton calmly said, “Oh, didn’t you know?  The train stops here overnight.  We stay in a hotel.”  Hooray for Keaton!  It was a lucky thing we were traveling with someone who knew her way around.  Keaton did not know where the hotel was, but she said, “Let’s just follow someone who is also carrying baggage.” 

Everyone was leaving the path by the side of the train and taking off over a footbridge leading across a deep canyon with a small mountain river below.  Turning to a man following us she asked, “Where are we going?” 

He replied, “I think most of us are going to the hotel operated by the railroad.  The train always stops here overnight on its southern trip.  The engineers check the stops the train will have to make after leaving Fairbanks.  Then they plan their starting time so as to arrive here just in time to stop for the night.” Rounding a bend in the trail and river we saw a two-story building that seemed to be hanging onto the side of the mountain with cables.  There were lights in many of the rooms’ windows. 

Our group from the train was going in the entrance.  Like sheep following the leader, we went in too.  It was a nice lobby and when it was our turn at the desk the clerk asked to see our tickets.

“Upstairs or down?” he asked. 

“Down, one for two and one single,” I said.  I reached for my billfold. 

“How much?”  I was scared to ask that question.

“Let me see your tickets again.”  I handed him the three tickets, and he tore off a section of each and returned the tickets to me. 

“Have a good night,” he said. “Rooms 10 and 12,” he added.

We were up early the next morning, and after an Alaskan breakfast of bacon and eggs, sourdough pancakes, and coffee we retraced our trail across the footbridge to the train. The train was waiting for us with steam up, ready to go.

With an early start we were down to Anchorage shortly after noon.  After a short stop in Anchorage for a few more passengers, we were on our way to Seward.  We talked with the conductor as he came through our car, asking about connections out of Seward. 

He said, “There will be no problem.  The Alaska Steamship has a ship at the docks now, and is expected to sail sometime tomorrow.  You should be able to get reservations.  Most people are going north this time of the year.” 

That was good news to us.  We could lean back and enjoy the rest of the trip.  It was just as the conductor had said.  There was a throng of people by the depot as we pulled into Seward, waiting for our seats.  They were from a big white ship that we could see as we disembarked from the train.  An officer from the ship greeted us as we approached the boarding gangplank of the ship.  “Yes, we have room for people going south, just check with the purser over there,” he said, pointing with his finger to an open door and a man standing beside a desk. 

The purser saw us coming and had his pencil ready. 

“Three tickets to Seattle,” he said as he handed one to Keaton and two to me.  Then turning to a couple of young men standing by he said, “Show these people to their rooms.” 

Our rooms were on opposite sides of the ship.  As we parted at the door of our room Keaton turned to Dorothy and asked, “What’s the name of this ship”?  Dorothy looked to me for the answer.

I checked my ticket stub before replying, “We are now on the SS Yukon, bound for Seattle.”

Keaton’s reply was, “Well, if that is where we are, I’m going to have a nap before dinner.”  Dorothy and I thought that was a good idea.  The two days from Fairbanks down to Seward was a little bit rough.  Our staterooms were roomy and nicely furnished. We didn’t hear the sound of the ship’s engines or notice any motion of the ship leaving the dock.  We almost missed the call for dinner.  Keaton saved us with her knock on the door and cheery call,

“Don’t you guys want to eat, or are you seasick already?” 

Seasick?  Where were we?  I went to the window and looked out.  There was nothing but water everywhere and a sky full of beautiful color.  There was not a ripple to be seen. 

“What happened to Alaska”? I asked Keaton as we joined her in the hall. 

“Oh, don’t you know? You and Dorothy have a room on the starboard side of the ship and you are looking at Japan.  I have Alaska still in view from my window.” 

Dorothy cut in with the remark, “We must be on our way south.” 

Keaton replied, “Well, shall we go just a little farther south?  The dining room is just down the hall, that way,” pointing forward. The dining room was nicely furnished and the service was good, but there were very few diners.  We remembered the purser’s statement, ‘There are not many people going south at this time.’

We took this opportunity to explore the deck.  On our left were the mountains of southern Alaska, with their high snow-covered peaks still catching the color of the fading sun.  The sea was so calm we could see their reflection in the still waters through which the ship was traveling.  We located three or four deck chairs in a sheltered area.  The speed of the ship always created a little breeze when on deck, so we were pleased to find this group of deck chairs where we wanted them just behind the smoke stack, or in more technical language, ‘in the lee of the funnel.’ 

In the comfort of this warm sheltered spot we lingered until the stars came out.  With the comfort and quietness of the evening we were led into reminiscences of some trips of the past.  Dorothy and I recalled our first trip North.  We were traveling on a small ship.  We must have been in just about this same place off the coast from Mt. Elias.  The Gulf of Alaska was a little rough and there weren’t many dry places on deck.  The ship was delivering a new Ford truck to some port up north.  By chance we found the truck cab door unlocked. Our story is “We crossed the Gulf of Alaska in a new Ford truck.”  The moon did not come out for us so we decided to call it a day and have a good look at our comfortable staterooms again.

The comfort of our bunks almost caused us to miss our breakfast.  The steward with his musical chimes was announcing, “Last call for breakfast.” We were out of our bunks and made ourselves presentable in time to make the last call. Breakfast was good if not better than we expected.  During breakfast I asked one of the stewards how far along we were in crossing the Gulf.  He said we were doing just fine and were right on schedule, but that stop at Yakutat threw us a little behind. 

“Did we make a stop during the night?” I asked. 

“Well, we do not always go into port at Yakutat.  We just cut the power off and drift.  A small boat comes out to meet us and we throw the mailbags down to him.  If there is a passenger going ashore, or one coming aboard, we lower the ladder for them.  Sometimes the weather is so bad we can’t do either.  Last night the weather was perfect, but the shore boat didn’t show on time.  They may have had problems on shore; maybe the tide was low and they could not get out of the harbor on schedule.”  The SS Yukon rounded the southern point of Douglas Island as we were finishing another one of those Alaskan breakfasts.  We were scheduled to be in Juneau by 9:00 am, and it looked like we were going to be on time.  The captain said that the ship would sail again at 10:00 am.

“Shall we take a taxi or walk”?  I asked.

“Let’s walk, I haven’t been in Juneau for years. I want to see if there is anything new.  Well, they have a new Federal Building.  We don’t have to walk up the hill, but around the hill to get there,” explained Keaton. Most of the new construction was across on Douglas Island and along the road going north.  Keaton enjoyed being in Juneau.  It had grown so much since she was there back in l930.

The Department of Nursing was all out to greet Miss Keaton, “The Angel In Fur” as some of the media referred to her.  While Keaton and her nursing buddies were catching up on what was new in the department, Dorothy and I wanted to find out about the North Star.  The story was that some Department of our government, which rates a little higher on the priority scale than the Department of Indian Affairs, needed a ship to go into the ice of the Antarctic, so they borrowed our North Star.  I do not know if that was the official story or not.  However, I was given some information and dates on available transportation for our return to Ouzinkie. 

We all heard the half-hour whistle blow on our ship down at the dock, calling the passengers back.  As we were saying our farewells someone said, “We will have one of the cars drive you down to the dock.” 

That was all right with us.  We were on the deck in time to watch some of the latecomers making a run to catch the gangplank, as two seamen were ready to stow it away.  The captain gave another little toot on the whistle as we pulled away from the dock.  Now we were in for a pleasant tour of Alaska’s famous Inside Passage. Seattle would be our next stop.

After twisting and turning among the many scenic passes and water-ways the high gravel banks of north Whidbey Island showed up off of our port bow.  We knew Seattle would be just around the next headland.  The decks voluntarily cleared of tourists who returned to their staterooms to repack their bags and baggage.  They returned once more to the decks to stand in silent awe as the ‘Smith’ tower stood out in bold relief over the city and spreading waterfront docks.

Home once more!  The smell and noise of the busy waterfront was great for us.  We could survive without all the fresh air from the mountaintops for a few days.  Our first action was to find a telephone and surprise our folks, asking them to meet us in Port Ludlow.  We were coming in on the 6:00 pm boat.  Keaton called home too.  She lived in Snohomish, Washington.  We reminded her to be on the lookout for a letter from Dick Hall.  We separated from him back in Nome since he had decided to continue to Seattle on the SS Redwood.  He said he had Keaton’s address.

We parted with Keaton as she took a taxi to go up to the Seattle bus station.  She planned to take a local bus from there on to Snohomish.  We spent a pleasant week with my parents out at Port Angeles and took a fast trip to Los Angeles, California to spend a week with Dorothy’s parents. Our late start getting out of the Arctic ice cut down our vacation time.                                

Returning to Seattle we took a motel north of Greenlake in Seattle for a few days while we prepared for our return to Alaska and our new address in Ouzinkie, on Kodiak Island.  We telephoned Keaton in Snohomish to let her know where we were.  She told us Dick Hall had made the trip to Seattle, going with the old Redwood from Nome to Seattle non-stop.  He reported it as a very slow and boring trip.  Keaton suggested we four old sourdoughs from the top of the world get together sometime soon at Woodland Park Zoo.  The idea pleased us, and a time and date was set for the get-together.  Keaton also suggested we all meet at the polar bear’s cage.  Dick especially wanted to visit the polar bear as he had a good story to tell us about it.

Eight years before some hunters from Wainwright had shot and killed a polar bear out on the ocean ice.  They didn’t recognize it was a mother bear until it was too late.  The hunters put the bear on their sled and started back to Wainwright.  When they stopped to make a pot of tea, they found a very young polar bear was following its mother.  The hunters allowed the baby bear to cuddle up to its mother and ride back to Wainwright with the sled.

One of the hunters had a small daughter about four years old.  When she saw the baby bear she wanted to keep it.  The father agreed she could keep the baby if she would promise to feed and take care of him.  She kept the small bear as if it were a puppy and it soon had the run of the house.  However it soon became a problem.  He was too large for the small one-room igloo, and he could not be put on a chain and staked outside for fear stray dogs would kill him. Dick Hall came into the picture about then.  Dick had a business partner who operated an old time sailing ship, the SS Holmes.  Dick was planning on going to Seattle on the return trip of the Holmes, and asked if he could take the polar bear to find it another home.  The captain agreed to Dick’s plan if he would build a cage for the bear’s safety while on the ship.  From some odds and ends of scrap lumber a cage was built and Dick took full charge of feeding the polar bear. Dick had several boxes of outdated chocolate candy that the bear became very fond of on the long trip to Seattle. 

When the ship arrived in Seattle and the longshoremen were ready to unload the crate, somehow the polar bear escaped, and was running loose on the deck of the ship.  To the men he was no longer a cuddly bear that slept in the arms of a five-year-old Eskimo girl.  A half-grown polar bear right from the arctic was loose on deck, and the longshoremen and other members of the crew were soon high in the shrouds and ratlines of the sailing ship. Order was not restored until Dick emerged from his cabin with the box of chocolates. 

The bear followed Dick back to its crate and while he was fed more chocolates, the workmen grew bold and repaired his cage.  The crew was glad when the big white bear was taken to The Woodland Park Zoo.  Dick was pleased to see that the orphan polar bear was being well cared for in the zoo.