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kind of navigation. On rising tides we have moved splendidly, but
as they fell, it became another story. Off shore as much as three
miles or more, we would suddenly bump along and stop. The tide
dropped so fast each time, we could move neither one way nor another.
And there we would spend eight to ten hours until the obliging waters
lifted us on our way agein. Once we stopped among many large grounded
icebergs and almost continually were they breaking off- now with a
rumbling roar like thunder, now with a report like a gun. Another
time we were in the midst of a flat mud plain, which at dead low tide
formed our horizon in all directions; the mud, as slippery as oil
and soft so we sank in it from four to ten inches at each step, was
terrible walking, so we all stayed on board.
We met solidice up the coast, that was packed on this
ungodly tide land and apparently extended way across Fox Basin, so
after an afternoon unparalleled for thrills and hair-raising escapes
from the rapidly moving ice, which milled around on all sides of us,
mostly taking us where it was going, we turned back down the coast-
or to where we last had seen it.
Now we are just above our old caribou camp on a lovely
tide beach. The day is perfectly beautiful and warm as can be. So
as I write this, just after our excellent lunch, I lie in my sleep-
ing bag, unclad, in a soft patch of moss in the middle of high rock,
overlooking the brillient white-capped blue green of Fox Basin on one
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"ocrText": "kind of navigation. On rising tides we have moved splendidly, but\nas they fell, it became another story. Off shore as much as three\nmiles or more, we would suddenly bump along and stop. The tide\ndropped so fast each time, we could move neither one way nor another.\nAnd there we would spend eight to ten hours until the obliging waters\nlifted us on our way agein. Once we stopped among many large grounded\nicebergs and almost continually were they breaking off- now with a\nrumbling roar like thunder, now with a report like a gun. Another\ntime we were in the midst of a flat mud plain, which at dead low tide\nformed our horizon in all directions; the mud, as slippery as oil\nand soft so we sank in it from four to ten inches at each step, was\nterrible walking, so we all stayed on board.\nWe met solidice up the coast, that was packed on this\nungodly tide land and apparently extended way across Fox Basin, so\nafter an afternoon unparalleled for thrills and hair-raising escapes\nfrom the rapidly moving ice, which milled around on all sides of us,\nmostly taking us where it was going, we turned back down the coast-\nor to where we last had seen it.\nNow we are just above our old caribou camp on a lovely\ntide beach. The day is perfectly beautiful and warm as can be. So\nas I write this, just after our excellent lunch, I lie in my sleep-\ning bag, unclad, in a soft patch of moss in the middle of high rock,\noverlooking the brillient white-capped blue green of Fox Basin on one"
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