The San Francisco call., 1908-12-27

Here. beneath the frowning side of
sheer mountain. they often lie at an
chor many days, along with the yes
sells OF the gold fleet. eager to turn
their prows northward in the race for
Nome and st. Michael, where their
pursers' safes will take in the con-
signments OF yellow nuggets. The ice
sullenly opens paths for them, and they
depart. OF the places they visit, the
men they see and the lives of these
men. their long soIitudes. their strange
garments. their fierce battles against
the wilderness OF fee and snow and
bowling winds. few save the crews
themselves know.
Least adventurous, the cannery tend
ers sail to ports whose strange and
beautiful surroundings are beyond the
dreams of the most lima gfnatiye of the
men and women who consume their
product Alaska's southern strip, as
far north as Cape Spencer. or, to get
closer to the geographical knowledge
of the average man. as far as Sitka and
little farther, Is hemmed by islands.
The mountains of the mainland come
to the salt water and drop straight to
its edge. Between them long fjords. in
point of grand beauty far beyond the
fjords of Norway, creep inland. And
at their heads rivers empty. rivers fed
by the green blue glaciers that hang to
the rock walls and by the snowfelds
near the SUBMITS that feel the SUMS
touch only TO grow warm pink each
morning, but never die. Into these
fjords and the narrow straits between
the mainland and the islands come the
salmon each summer from the open sea.
They are hunting the streams of their
nativity. Finding these by strange in
stinct they go upward. ever upward to
the spawning grounds, lay their eggs
and die Even the narrow creeks be-
yond the river sources are lined each
summer with their bodies.
Yearly the salmon come and yearly
the fishermen take their toll. In old
days the Siwashes were alone in this,
and save the fish which they garnered
Iazily TO dry In the sun for winter use,
none was taken. Now II is different.
Tucked away in hidoen bays where
mountains meet the opalescent waters
of these northern inlets, the most beau
tifully colored waters in the world, are
scores of canneries, long, low, wooden
buildings. unlovely. reeking in season
with the odor of the fish. Save the few
white men in charge there are no civil
ized people within hundreds of miles
OF some of these canneries. The ST.
wash village with its huddle of cabins
and its hidsously carved totem poles
holds the only permanent population
In the winter time the cannery is de-
serted. Each summer the tender comes
into the cold, silent ford. 1t is laden
with supplies and between decks are
many men, white men and Chinese.
These latter do the work under hire
of their boss Chinaman. The tender
unloads her cargo. empty cans, food,
tools and supplies in variety. And the
fishing season is on. The salmon are
caught in the long traps and loaded
on scows; then taken ashore to the
cannery, cut up. canned and cooked in
the tins. For two months the place is
alive with work, day and night. The
season passes; the tender takes on her
cargo and her load OF Chinese passen-
gers. then departs for the southwark.
And the siwash village relapses into
It's silent, winter life.
Along hundreds OF miles OF coast