The First Landing on Wrangel Island | Page 2

run westward--a distance of 245 miles--the fine weather enabled us to
witness some curious freaks of refraction and other odd phenomena for
which the high latitudes are so remarkable. On July 30, the fine weather
continuing, everybody was correspondingly elate and merry when both
Herald and Wrangel islands were sighted from the "cro'-nest" and, as
they were neared, apparently free from ice. This illusion, however, was

soon dispelled. On approaching the land strong tide rips were
encountered, and finally the ice, the drift of which was shown by the
drop of a lead-line to be west-northwest. We steamed through about
fifteen miles of this ice before being stopped, less than half a mile from
the southeast end of the island by the fixed ice, to which the ship was
secured with a kedge. We got off, and after considerable climbing and
scrambling up and down immense hummocks, and jumping a number
of crevices, finally set foot on the land we had been so long trying to
reach. Our advent created a great commotion among the myriads of
birds that frequent the ledges and cliffs, and the intrusion caused them
to whirl about in a motley cloud and scream at each other in ceaseless
uproar. A few minutes sufficed to survey the situation, before
attempting to ascend at a spot that seemed scarcely to afford footing for
a goat. Near the foot of the cliffs were seen on the one hand several
detached pinnacles of sombre-looking weather-worn granite that had
withstood the vigor of many Arctic winters; on the other hand a
seemingly inaccessible wall, vividly recalling the eastern face of the
Rock of Gibraltar. This sight, strange and weird beyond description,
did not fail to awaken odd thoughts and emotions, far removed as we
were from all human intercourse, amid solitude and desolation, and for
a moment the mind absorbed a dash of the local coloring. Selecting
what was believed to be the most favorable spot to ascend the cliff, two
of our party in making the attempt would occasionally detach large
bowlders, which came bounding, down like a bombardment.
The attempt was abandoned after climbing a few hundred feet. In
company with several others, I tried what seemed to be a more
practicable way--a gully filled with snow--up which we had gone
scarcely a hundred feet when it, too, had to be abandoned. In the
meantime the skin boat had been brought over the ice, and one of the
men pointing out another place where he thought we might ascend, it
was the work of but a few minutes to cross a bit of open water which
led to the foot of a steep snowbank, somewhat discolored from the
gravel brought down by melting snow. Without despairing, and being
in that frame of mind prepared to incur danger to a reasonable extent
for the sake of knowledge, we climbed several hundred feet over the
snow and ice, having to cut steps with an axe that we had brought along,

before reaching the top. The latter stage of this proceeding was like
scrambling over the dome of the Washington Capitol with a great
yawning cliff below, and was well calculated to try the nerve of any
one except a competent mountaineer or a sailor accustomed to a
doddering mast. A ravine was next reached, through which tumbled
with loud noise and wild confusion, over broken rocks and amid some
scant lichens and mosses, a stream of pure water, which had hollowed
out a shaft or funnel, forming a glacier mill or moulin. It was over the
roof of this tunnel that we had passed, and it caused an awesome
feeling to come over one to see the water leap down its mouth to an
unseen depth with a loud rumbling noise. After a tiresome ascent of the
ravine, this hitherto inaccessible island, like a standing challenge of
Nature inviting the muscular and ambitious, was at last climbed to the
very summit; and it may be remarked, with pardonable vanity, that the
feat was never done before. The view revealed from the top of the
island was a veritable apocalypse. There was something unique about
the desolate grandeur of the novel surroundings that would cause a man
of the Sir Charles Coldstream type to say there "is something in it," and
the most hackneyed man of the world would acknowledge a new
sensation. It was midnight, and the sun shone with gleaming splendor
over all this waste of ice and sea and granite; on one hand Wrangel
Island appeared in well-defined outline, on the other an open sea
extended northward as far as we were able to make out by the aid of
strong glasses. From our position about the middle of the island the two
extreme points of Wrangel island bore southwest