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Table of contents
- Deadly Silent | Book 2 by 𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐚 𝐲𝐞𝐨 at Inkitt
- Short story contest winner: A Deadly Diet
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- Deadly Contest
To reach the Klondike, they first needed to get themselves and all their supplies over the Alaskan coastal range, on a trail too steep for horses or pack mules. They sent 3, pounds of supplies to the summit with Tlingit packers, at 22 cents per pound, and carried the rest on their backs. Several sources state that Jack hauled about a ton, which was average. A strong man who could backpack pounds had to make 20 round trips, walking a total of 40 miles, in order to move that burden one mile.
The going was rough and muddy, with patches of quagmire. They had to cross and recross a raging river on felled trees. Men who fell were usually drowned by the weight of their packs; they were buried in shallow graves beside the trail. Nine miles out from Dyea, Cap Shepard was in so much pain from his rheumatism that he said goodbye to the other men and turned back down the trail. The others pressed on through heavy rain and deepening mud. They picked up an elderly gold-seeker named Martin Tarwater, who offered to cook for them. It was the last piece of level ground before the dreaded ascent to Chilkoot Pass.
A photographer, Frank LaRoche, was there documenting the gold rush for the U.
Deadly Silent | Book 2 by 𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐚 𝐲𝐞𝐨 at Inkitt
Geological Survey. He gathered up 24 men and photographed them standing in the mud with a glacier in the background. They all look stern and solemn, including young Jack London with a tousled forelock protruding from his cap and a hand shoved into his pocket. Yet it fails to convey a key fact: Most of the men had to climb that terrible slope 20 or 30 times. The pass marked the boundary between Alaska, an American possession, and the Yukon Territory.
Canadian authorities required each individual to bring enough food to last a year, or about 1, pounds. And that load doubled with mining and camping gear. Many men looked up at the steepness of the trail, calculated how many trips it would take and turned back toward Dyea, dumping the detestable burden of their supplies. Many tried to make the climb, but lacked the strength and stamina. They collapsed in despair or grimacing in pain from back injuries. At least 70 were killed by landslides and avalanches.
No one who lived through the Chilkoot ever forgot it, least of all Jack London, who wrote about it with great vividness in several fictional accounts. The elation of reaching the top of the pass for the last time did not last long; now the men had to backpack all their supplies another 16 miles, then cut down trees and build a boat, cross a series of lakes, portage the boat and supplies between the lakes, then travel miles north on the Yukon River—and do it all before the river froze.
Short story contest winner: A Deadly Diet
It was already snowing in mid-September. Ice was forming on the lakeshores. Racing winter, they rationed themselves to five hours of sleep a night. In a boat built from spruce by Sloper the carpenter, with a mast and sail rigged by Jack London the sailor, they made it over the lakes in gales and blizzards, and saw two other boats capsize and drown everyone aboard.
On September 24, they entered a tributary of the Yukon River called Sixtymile. The following day at Box Canyon, the river narrowed into a roaring, foaming chute and they faced a tough decision. So many boats had wrecked in the rapids that most stampeders were now portaging their boats and supplies around them, but that took four days.
The foot boat was heavily laden with supplies. There were hundreds of spectators on the canyon walls, predicting disaster. Jack steered with a sweep-oar as they careened through the white water, and the others paddled frantically to avoid getting dashed against the rocks. The current was so swift that they ran the mile-long canyon in two minutes, with no damage done except one snapped paddle. An even bigger challenge came at White Horse Rapids, which featured big standing waves, jagged rocks and whirlpools.
Then, with admirable generosity, he went back and helped a young couple run their skiff through the same rapids. Thompson wrote in his diary that they rested easy that night. Sixtymile River flowed into mile Lake Laberge. It took a week to battle across it in howling north winds and snowstorms. The going was easier below Laberge, although the weather was bitterly cold with dense fogs. The big worry was the ice accumulating in the river.
The Yukon—the third-biggest river in North America, after the Mississippi and the Mackenzie—usually froze solid by mid-October. On October 9, about 80 miles from Dawson City, they decided to stop and winter at the mouth of the Stewart River, where they found some old serviceable cabins and Big Jim saw promising color in his gold pan. Jack staked out feet on the left fork of Henderson Creek and boated downriver to file his mining claim in Dawson City. Founded the previous year, Dawson now had more than a dozen saloons with dance halls and gambling, a street of prostitutes called Paradise Alley and some 5, inhabitants living in cabins, tents and shanties.
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There was a food shortage, no sanitation, and the filthy streets were full of unemployed men and sled dogs. Jack befriended two brothers, Louis and Marshall Bond, who let him camp next to their cabin in Dawson. Their father was a wealthy judge with a ranch in Santa Clara, California; he would later appear, lightly fictionalized, as Judge Miller in The Call of the Wild. Jack stayed in Dawson for more than six weeks.
Dawson City today is a hardy, free-spirited, extremely remote community of 1, people, still trading on its history as the capital of the Klondike gold rush.
Even in an era when industrial-scale mining has been introduced in the region, independent gold miners are still digging and sluicing in the nearby Klondike Valley, using excavators and diesel pumps, as well as shovels and gold pans. Some of them are finding significant amounts of gold, and spending their money on whiskey, poker, blackjack and can-can shows at Diamond Tooth Gerties gambling hall.
The downtown streets are unpaved. You walk on raised wooden sidewalks past frontier-style buildings, some dating back to the gold rush era.
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At the Downtown Hotel is the Jack London Grill and a saloon that serves a highly unusual cocktail, the Sourtoe—a severed, mummified human toe dropped into the liquor of your choice. The legend is that the drink dates back to the s, and originally involved an amputated frostbitten toe. These days, according to the bartender, the saloon accepts toes lost to other misfortunes, including lawnmower accidents.
Hendricks, Arcata, CA. Winky the flounder, lying flat on the ocean floor, looked about in horror as he took in the shreds of fish flesh that rained down on him from the massacre visited upon his family by the barracuda gang, and realized: "I'm the sole survivor.
- Deadly Silent | Book 2.
- How wthau started their book cover journey?
- Apocalypse Theorem.
Brent Guernsey, Springfield, VA. Stephanie Karnosh, Springboro OH. David Hynes, Bromma, Sweden. As I stood next to the deathbed I could hear a whisper full of desperate urgency: "I have to confess something to you! I am not your sister! I am your mother!! They were tough men with tough jobs who frequented tough bars with rough, tough atmospheres, and the way they gripped their drinks, cigars, and cigarettes in a manly fashion never failed to impress the tough, hard-faced women who also frequented those same bars, and often ended up having their babies.
Adam Johnson, Longmont, CO. Lee Grossman, Oakland, CA. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times — though any decent statistician might net those two factors together and conclude that things were fairly average all round. David Meech, Auckland, New Zealand.
The price was cheap, thought P. George Brown, but renting an office out the back of Farmer Frizzle's poultry barn didn't make the best of impressions, what with the spread-eagled cassowary mounted on the wall, the eggshells his clients had to walk on to get to his desk, and the barn's P. Sarah Totton, Guelph, Ontario. It was going to be one of those nights, maybe not dark and stormy, but nebulous and heavy, nevertheless; the kind of night you would endure rather than survive, the kind of night you would fear but could not anticipate, the kind of night I would weather as I had a thousand nights before with the steadfast companions who would once again escort me to dawn: Patsy, Roy, and Jack -- that is, Cline, Orbison, and Daniels.
Tom Venturino, Encinitas, CA. He sat on the tailgate of his truck, an old Ford Ranger as blue as the summer sky although it was now winter , sucking on the ass end of his cigarette, taking puffs to the beat of his speakers as they blared an old Beetles tune, you know the one. It was a dark and shiny tube that Nurse Johnson slowly intubated into the patient's left nostril when suddenly Dr. Barbarino bent over to old man Kotter's ear and shouted, "Up your nose with a rubber hose! Jim Jones, Massillon, OH. His hot, fetid breath on the back of her neck pulled her from her sleep and she felt fear grip her as she recognized his presence and scrambled quickly to untangle herself from the sheets and exit the bed before Felix could hack up the forthcoming hairball.