With Sack and Stock in Alaska — Background and Themes

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In Category - Geography

Authors: Broke, Horatio George, 1861-1932 Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2017 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Alaska -- Description and travel; Mountaineering -- Alaska; Saint Elias, Mount (Alaska and Yukon) Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 42,863

Reading time 187 min

Text sections 5

The source record for With Sack and Stock in Alaska — Background and Themes measures this digital text at 42,863 words, 3 hr 7 min estimated reading time, and 5 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 18.8 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Alaska -- Description and travel,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #55980

George Broke's 1891 account of mountaineering in Alaska, based on his diary, details attempts on Mount St. Elias from Icy Bay and Yakutat, with precise observations of glaciers, crevasses, and the challenges of loose shale and rotten snow.

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st difficulty we obtained a fairly airy but exceedingly diminutive cabin, for at first we found ourselves condemned to a pocket edition of the Black Hole. H. tried to make us believe that the majesty of his presence had over-awed the purser, but we somehow fancied that bribery and corruption had something to do with it. In consequence of this mob of passengers there were three breakfasts, three lunches, etc., a most horrible arrangement, while at all of them the food was bad, and the waiting worse. Thus we grumbled, little thinking with what enthusiasm the same cookery would be received on our return.

As a sea voyage this trip up to Sitka is quite unique, though possibly travelling among the fiords of Norway might be compared to it in quality if not in quantity, for these steamers travel about eight hundred miles between Victoria and Sitka, only about thirty miles of which, the crossing of Queen Charlotte’s Sound, can in any sense be termed open sea, though the whole of it is on salt water. The whole coast up to Cape Spencer is fringed with a mass of islands separated by deep and very narrow channels, in some instances so narrow that, as in the case of Peril Straits and Seymour Narrows, even a steamer can only pass them at slack water. One American gentleman assured me that in the latter strait the tide had been known to run seventeen knots! All these islands are densely wooded with conifers, among which may every now and then be detected the white streak of a waterfall racing down the steep hill-side.

We stopped to coal at Nanaimo, and while this objectionable process was going on, H. and I spent the afternoon in drifting about the harbour in an Indian canoe, a dug-out about twelve feet long, managed in just the same way as the Canadian canoes we have in England, and in endeavouring to acquire some Chinook, the jargon invented more or less by the old traders, and used all over British Columbia and the southern part of Alaska. It contains chiefly Indian words, most of which are common to various different tribes, a few English, a few Russian, and a good many French words, such as Siwash (i.e. _sauvage_) for Indian, and _sawmon_ for any kind of fish.

Then for six days it rained at intervals, while a grey pall of cloud stretched ceaselessly over our heads, and we spent most of our time playing whist or euchre in our cabin, which would just hold four people. Our fourth on these occasions was a most cheerful Scotchman, known to us as the King of Cassiar, to which kingdom he was now returning. He possessed a large stock of most excellent whisky when he came on board. During these sad and gloomy days we visited sundry salmon canneries, and about midnight on Sunday the 10th we arrived at Wrangel. We had now got so far north that there was quite light enough even at that hour to walk about the streets, and I accompanied our Scotch friend ashore, as he was to leave us here and go up the Stickheen river. While in the town I gleaned the information that canoes went up almost every summer from Hooniah to Yakutat along the unprotected part of the coast, and we proceeded to sketch out plans for conveying our expedition in the same way.

The next day was still wet and cold, and though we met sundry small icebergs floating down from the glaciers in Taku Inlet, we saw nothing of the mountains which gave them birth. Some excitement was caused by our stopping about eleven o’clock to pick up a fair-sized canoe with four of Mr. Duncan’s Metlakatla Indians in her, who had encountered rough weather and damaged their frail craft. We reached the mining city (!) of Juneau in the evening, and H. and I plunged about till late at night, seeking, with the assistance of Mr. Reed, a Juneau store-keeper, for some sloop or schooner which might convey us up to Yakutat. This we failed to find, but we engaged a certain Dick as interpreter, who was said to be the smartest Indian in Alaska, and rejoiced in the appellation of the Dude. For this aristocratic Siwash’s services we weakly consented to pay four dollars a day and his food, and he accompanied us on board, his luggage being about as voluminous as that of a Swiss guide.

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George Broke's With Sack and Stock in Alaska (1891) opens with a preface that candidly admits its own 'crudeness and diariness,' a note that prepares the reader for a narrative that is less a polished travelogue and more a day-by-day record of setbacks and small victories. The book's structure follows the chronology of an expedition to Mount St. Elias, beginning with the journey from London to Sitka and then to Yakutat. Broke's voice is matter-of-fact, often understated, and he does not inflate his own role: he reports that the party's forces include 'Shorty,' 'Lyons,' and unnamed Indians, and that progress is repeatedly hampered by 'miserable weather,' wading through torrents, and the difficulty of moving supplies across glaciers.

The Diary as a Structural Frame

The book's subtitle might well be 'notes,' as Broke himself calls them. The opening chapters proceed by dates and locations, from 'London to Sitka' to 'Sitka to Yakutat.' The reader quickly learns that the narrative will not offer a dramatic arc but a sequence of practical challenges: hiring canoes, recruiting men, and dealing with 'a deceitful car-conductor' on the Canadian Pacific Railway. The diary format means that events are recorded as they happen, with little retrospection. For instance, when Broke writes that 'the men return to the beach' or that 'we make a cache,' these are presented as simple facts, not as moments of tension. This structure rewards a reader who pays attention to small details—the mention of 'a wasp’s nest' or 'mosquitoes'—because these are the texture of the expedition.

Glaciers and the Language of Difficulty

Broke's descriptions of the terrain are precise and technical. He notes that the Tyndall Glacier 'makes two long and beautiful sweeps round the foot of St. Elias, full of tremendous crevasses.' The climbing is often over 'loose shale and steep dirt giving no real foothold.' On one arête, H. 'had to cut a hundred and fifty steps, which took the best part of an hour and a half.' These details are not embellished; they are the raw data of mountaineering. The reader unfamiliar with glacial geography will still grasp the physical effort involved. Broke also records altitudes (7,725 feet on one arête) and compares the scenery to the Mer de Glace, but on 'a far larger scale.' The cumulative effect is a sense of the landscape's scale and the party's persistent, unglamorous labor.

The Party and Its Dynamics

Broke rarely analyzes his companions, but their actions speak. The Indians are sent to help when packs are heavy; Shorty and Lyons kill ptarmigan with stones; a 'blue bear' is sighted. The narrative includes moments of shared resourcefulness: 'they succeeded in smoking out and killing four baby marmots.' There is also friction, hinted at in the chapter 'An Attack and a Countermarch,' where the men return to the beach and the party splits. Broke's own retreat is noted without self-justification: 'The others go on—Alone with Billy and Jimmy.' The reader must infer the group's morale from these sparse reports. The dedication to 'A— M—, killed on the Düssistock' adds a somber note, suggesting that the author is aware of the risks, even if he does not dwell on them.

The Role of the Reader's Attention

Because Broke does not explain the significance of each event, the reader must actively piece together the expedition's progress. For example, the mention of 'Lake Castani' or 'the Guyot Glacier' appears without fanfare, and only by following the maps (included in the original edition) can one track the route. The narrative is dense with proper names—'Sha-klokh,' 'Verstovia,' 'the Chaix Hills'—that are not glossed. A first-time reader may find this disorienting, but it also mirrors the experience of being in unfamiliar territory. The book rewards those who read slowly, noting when the party 'made a cache' or when 'wild-geese for supper' appears as a rare moment of comfort. The final chapters, describing the return to Sitka via canoe, maintain the same unadorned tone, ending not with triumph but with a note on the 'Height of St. Elias.'

For a first reading, treat With Sack and Stock in Alaska as a primary document rather than a polished memoir. Pay attention to the dates and the small logistical details—the loss of a frying-pan, the difficulty of finding firewood—because these are the expedition's real story. The book does not offer a climax or a moral; it simply records what happened. Readers interested in the history of Alaskan exploration or the everyday realities of nineteenth-century mountaineering will find it a valuable, unvarnished account.

Reading about George Broke’s patient slog through rotten snow brought back a summer I spent picking my way up a scree slope in the Tetons, each step a small negotiation. It felt less like climbing than like listening. Paris Vistas once gave me that same quiet: a city observed not conquered, one street at a time. Paris Vistas — Text and Context hummed with that exact unhurried attention, a walker’s pace rather than a climber’s gasp.