The Impossible Rescue

by Martin W. Sandler

  The Quaker mission at Cape Blossom stood at the very edge of Kotzebue Sound. For Jarvis and Bertholf, it was a vital destination point.

  For the third time on his journey, David Jarvis was approaching a doorway behind which lay an answer that profoundly affected the expedition’s chances of saving the whalers. He was closer to Point Barrow than anyone might have hoped for. But time was running out. There was simply no way of going on if Bertholf had not been able to complete his mission. Had he made it? Were the supplies there?

  Jarvis and Bertholf pose with residents of the Samms mission and indigenous people of the area. Although great uncertainties still lay ahead for the two men, their reunion was a most welcome relief.

  Bertholf was there with the supplies! Later, in his official report, Jarvis would write, “We were relieved and overjoyed. Everything at this end had turned out well, although Lieutenant Bertholf had a hard time. . . . But he arrived all right, with the provisions intact, and we were now fully able to prepare all parts of the expedition for the long and hazardous journey to Point Barrow.”

  David Jarvis was a man not given to exaggeration. But even for him, saying Bertholf “had hard time” was a colossal understatement. What was not an understatement was Jarvis’s prediction that the final three-hundred-mile trip from Cape Blossom to Point Barrow would be a “long and hazardous journey.” Adding to his concern was the fact that he had no idea where the herd was at this point. Before crossing Kotzebue Sound, he had left a note for Lopp telling him that it was probably too risky to try to take so many animals across so large an expanse of the always unpredictable ice.

  “I paid off and sent back the Laplander and the natives who had come in Lieutenant Bertholf’s train, except one native herder, Okitkun, who was retained to care for the deer [Bertholf] brought,” Jarvis wrote. “I knew him as a thoroughly good and reliable Eskimo, and, moreover, an excellent deerman — one of the best in the country, and I wanted him here when our herd came along . . . in case any of our herders had [become worn out].”

  Aside from his concern over Lopp’s whereabouts, Jarvis had something else on his mind. He had heard absolutely nothing about the condition of the whalers at Point Barrow since accidentally encountering George Fred Tilton. Cape Blossom was less than a week’s trek away from the trading post and whaling station at Point Hope, and he was certain that someone there would have news of the whalers. It would mean backtracking, but as long as he had to wait for Lopp for at least a week — if not more, depending on his route at Kotzebue Sound — Jarvis felt it was a trip worth taking.

  On February 16, after leaving Bertholf behind to rest and wait for Lopp and the deer, Jarvis and Call set out for Point Hope. They were able to move along at a rapid pace, but they could not help noticing that at no time did the temperature rise above thirty-five degrees below zero. It was an awareness that led Jarvis to reflect on the precautions the expedition had taken against the often devastating effects of the bitter cold.

  “The difference between care and carelessness is slight, in arctic travel,” he would write, “and the first let-up is sure to bring its reminder in the shape of a frosted toe or finger or a frozen nose. One must be on guard, and the slightest tinge in the nose or cheek must be heeded, and circulation started again by vigorous rubbing. . . . I saw a case where the end of a man’s nose had dropped off from frostbite. . . . No part of the body requires more attention than [the hands and feet]; socks and boots must be well made and kept thoroughly dry; even the slightest perspiration will, if one stops too long, work disastrously. Both boots and socks should be changed immediately upon going into camp, and dry ones must be put on in the morning before starting. The natives know the importance of this only too well, and if they see one inclined to neglect these precautions, they will insist on his taking care of his foot gear.”

  On the morning of February 20, Jarvis and Call pulled up at Point Hope’s whaling and trading station. Jarvis wrote, “It was reported that a man [named Ned Arey] had just come from Point Barrow. Here was the news I . . . had come all this way to obtain.” Immediately, Jarvis began to question Arey, who had a disturbing story to tell. In March 1897, Arey had left San Francisco aboard a whaling vessel, intending to transfer to another ship in the vicinity of Point Barrow. He never met up with the second ship, and a month ago he had left Point Barrow for Point Hope. He reported that the situation at Point Barrow was growing worse every day. George Fred Tilton had stated that the whalers would run out of food in July. Arey, however, predicted that the food would begin running out in May. One man had already died from freezing. And, Arey added, the dreaded disease scurvy had broken out, particularly among those who had remained aboard the Belvedere.

  The whaling and trading station at Point Hope. Although the photographer (probably Dr. Call) did not identify those in the picture and their heavy clothing obscures their appearances, the group most likely includes Lieutenant Jarvis, Ned Arey, and employees of the whaling and trading station.

  Jarvis reconsidered his plans. Without delay he would send Dr. Call to Point Barrow to let those there know that help was on its way. But the next day, just as Call was about to leave, a messenger suddenly appeared, carrying a long message addressed to Jarvis that made him change his plans again. It was from Lopp, and it contained welcome news. Lopp and his herders had managed to take the deer across the frozen and treacherous Kotzebue Sound. Not, however, as the message revealed, without great difficulty.

  Lopp and the herd had arrived at Toatut a few days after Jarvis, Call, and their native helpers had left the village and crossed the sound. Once at Toatut, Lopp had faced making the same decision Jarvis had confronted. Did he dare to travel all the way across the frozen sound, particularly with more than four hundred unpredictable reindeer in tow? Lopp was well aware that to brave the ice meant putting the lives of the herders and their helpers at risk, to say nothing of the deer. Unlike Jarvis, who was prone to making decisions on his own, Lopp put the decision to a vote. To a man, it was agreed that the time that would be saved in crossing the frozen body of water was worth the risk.

  It was a decision that almost cost them dearly. After leading the reindeer out onto the sound early in the morning, the party traveled all day and well into the night across the ice, which in some places was so high and so rough that they feared their sleds would be destroyed. Finally, still ten miles from the opposite shore, they had to set up camp. They were so worn out that they neglected to tie the deer to heavy objects to keep them from wandering away, and the exhausted men fell asleep. And paid the price.

  The restless and hungry deer wandered off and retraced their steps all the way back to Toatut, where they had last found moss to eat before starting across the sound. When they awoke, the startled herders had no choice but to retrace their steps, round up the deer, and start out over the sound again. This time they were determined not to stop, and by traveling all day and all night made it across. Both the men and the deer, Lopp stated in his message, were “almost dead from hunger and fatigue.” Six sled deer had become so exhausted that Lopp had been forced to leave them on the ice. But the crossing had been made, valuable time had been saved, and, as Lopp reported, all would be in good condition again once they had some food and a brief rest.

  Lopp’s message also informed Jarvis that he and the herd were now camped at the Kivalina River and that while both his men and the deer got the rest they so badly needed, he would wait for Jarvis and Call to join him and the herd. Jarvis and Call hastened out of Point Hope and soon came upon the river. That night, however, it began to snow so hard that they were forced to halt and seek refuge in a small native hut. When they awoke early the next morning, the snow had turned into a blizzard so fierce that, despite Jarvis’s frustration, they were trapped inside the hut until the storm finally abated the next day. Now winding their way along the Kivalina, they were suddenly halted by an excited young boy from the area who came running up, shouting that he had seen a huge herd of reindeer. Immediately, Jarvis
sent his guide off with the boy to find Lopp and bring him to where he and Call were waiting. Lopp arrived, looking much the worse for wear. Lopp, Jarvis would recall, “showed the marks of frozen cheeks and nose that all his party had gotten in their hard trip over the ice of Kotzebue Sound.”

  Replacing the dogs with fresh animals was both a necessity and a constant challenge. Here, Dr. Call looks over a new team he has acquired at Point Hope.

  With more than four hundred reindeer and supplies roughly in the same place, Jarvis continued, they “had fully 400 miles more of travel against the northeast wind that generally prevails in this part of the country during the winter, and only [the] month of March to do it in.” With that in mind, Jarvis decided that Lopp and the herd should start out for the mountains as soon as possible. Jarvis and Call would return to Point Hope to gather up the supplies they had left behind in their haste to find Lopp at the Kivalina River. They would then rejoin Lopp and the herd once they crossed the mountains.

  Before setting off to rejoin the herd, Jarvis made another decision as well. His conversation with Ned Arey had troubled him more than he let on to either Dr. Call or Tom Lopp. The more he thought about it, the more he became deeply concerned that if, as Arey had predicted, the provisions at Point Barrow ran out in May, things there would be truly desperate by the time he hopefully arrived. Once again he made a change in plans, and once again it involved Lieutenant Bertholf.

  Just as he was about to catch up with Lopp, Jarvis sent a guide back to the Quaker mission with a message for the lieutenant. In it, Jarvis informed Bertholf that if, upon reaching Point Barrow, he found the situation to be disastrous, he was going to send at least one hundred of the whalers to be cared for at Point Hope. Bertholf, Jarvis ordered, was to leave immediately for Point Hope to prepare for the arrival of the whalemen if Jarvis found such a move necessary.

  On March 6, 1898, Jarvis and Call were ready to start out again to find the herd. But even the seemingly tireless Jarvis had to admit that the journey thus far in general, and the trips back and forth to Point Hope in particular, had taken their toll. In what was for him a rare admission, he wrote, “We had now come so great a distance that, while we were somewhat hardened to the work, we had been at it so long we were necessarily tired, and could not stand running ahead of the dogs all the time as had to be done in this part of the country. . . . I finally engaged a middle-aged man and wife, who had lived at Point Barrow several years. They had never been over the road we were to travel, but we could follow the coast and I wanted them more to help with the sleds than for any particular guidance. Nekowrah, the man, while not a good traveler, was the best man around a camp I ever saw, and his judgment and foresight in these matters saved us much discomfort, if not suffering. It is characteristic of the natives of the extreme north that they have an excellent knowledge of how to prepare for and withstand the rigors of the climate. They seem to have no fears of it, but at the same time are fully alive to its dangers and menaces.”

  As they traveled, Jarvis could not shake his concerns. He worried about whether Lopp could steer the herd over the rugged mountains. And he was worried about what he and Call would encounter as well. “We had been warned concerning the blizzards on this coast,” Jarvis would write, “and I had heard many stories of the terrible times of parties who had been caught in these storms. One party I knew of had been storm-bound for forty-two days . . . and were compelled to eat their dogs before the storm passed over. We had never allowed the darker side of the stories we had heard to trouble us, except so far as to make our preparations more complete, yet often during our long flight up this coast if one had dared let down we might have been left somewhere on the road.”

  By this time, Jarvis and Call had become expert at coping with the conditions. “We had now been traveling so long that our camping and packing sleds had been reduced to a system,” Jarvis wrote. “There were four of us and each had his own part of the work to do. The doctor was the cook and looked out for the stove and the food. I attended to the sleds and the tent. The native woman [Shucungunga] was the doctor’s assistant and besides looked after our clothes, while her husband Nekowrah helped me and did the heavy work. On coming to our camping place, Nekowrah and I would get out the tent and pitch it. This done, the doctor would set up his stove, while Nekowrah went on a hunt for wood, and I would bank up the snow around the sides to keep the wind out and secure the hut generally. Then the sleds were unpacked and all our sleeping gear, food, and cooking utensils were passed in to Shucungunga, who arranged them inside. By this time the fire was started in the stove, the dogs were unharnessed, and the sleds put beyond their reach. This would all take from one-half to three-quarters of an hour, and in that time the tent would be good and warm and we could go inside and change our clothes. The wet ones were passed over to Shucungunga for drying, who stretched a line along the ridgepole and hung up the clothes to catch all the warm air possible.”

  On March 10, Jarvis and Call reached the mouth of the Pitmegea River, where they were supposed to meet Lopp and the reindeer. “[I] looked anxiously around for some sign of the deer herd,” Jarvis wrote, “and saw sticking in the snow a cross made of two pieces of bread box, [with a sign upon it.]” Once he got close enough to the sign, Jarvis saw that it read, “Letter between boards.” Then, after tearing the boards apart, he found a note addressed to him. It was from Lopp, and it was just what Jarvis wanted to hear. After spending six grueling days crossing the mountains, Lopp and the herd had arrived at this spot on March 7. The sled deer were nearly “played out,” but the herd was in as good shape as could be expected. He and his fellow herders, Lopp concluded, had taken a one-day rest and then, on the ninth, had started out again for Point Barrow.

  Throughout their separate journeys to Cape Blossom, Lopp and Jarvis periodically left messages for each other indicating their whereabouts. Here, Jarvis finds a note from Lopp.

  Jarvis was overjoyed. Not only had the mountains been crossed, and seemingly without the loss of a single deer, but for the first time since the long trek with the reindeer had started, the deer were actually ahead of him.

  Anxious to catch up with Lopp, Jarvis pushed through the steady cold and relentless northeast wind. “We were wet through with perspiration,” he would write, “and had to [keep] moving until we camped at night to keep from freezing for it is almost fatal to stop with wet clothes.”

  Incredibly, the weather got even worse. On March 15, the snow began to come down so hard that Jarvis’s group could not see ahead more than a few feet. At the same time, the temperature dropped to more than forty degrees below zero, the coldest Jarvis had yet encountered. He had no choice but to halt his pursuit of the herd and set up camp. “It was all we could do,” he would write, “to keep the tent from blowing down, so we cut blocks of snow and built a barricade around our camp that kept off some of the wind, but still it was anything but comfortable, and as the old native hut [that was nearby] was filled with hard, packed snow and we could not get in there . . . we had to finally tear off its covering of wood to get enough to keep our fires going.”

  They were uncomfortable, but they were safe. What Jarvis could not abide, however, was that for two more days and nights the conditions refused to improve. Finally, on the morning of the seventeenth, the storm abated. Leaving the tent at last, Jarvis found his dogs buried in drifts so high that only their noses stuck out. Before they could move on, an agonizing amount of time had to be spent uncovering buried equipment, including the sleds, and removing mounds of snow from the tent before it could be packed away.

  Pushing on, they reached a settlement of only two huts, where they learned that Lopp and the deer had passed through only a short time before. They picked up the pace as best they could, and soon, as Jarvis would write, “we could see [the herd] ahead, like a small black cloud sweeping over the sea of intense white snow.” The snow kept falling so hard that even with Lopp so agonizingly close, Jarvis had to make camp for the night. Lying in his tent, he deci
ded that, in order to make the fastest time possible, the next day he would lighten his sled, leave Call and the rest of his party behind in the camp, and pursue Lopp and the herd alone. It was a decision totally out of character for the normally cautious Jarvis. He well knew the dangers involved in traveling alone in the Arctic in the dead of winter. With no one around to help him, one bone-breaking spill over a hidden boulder, one plunge through the ice into a snow-covered stream, or any one of countless other dire accidents in subzero temperatures could prove fatal. But he had to catch up with the herd. He had to get to Point Barrow.

  With the snow still pounding down, it took him another full day and night to find the herd. When he caught up with the group, he was relieved to find Lopp and the reindeer in good condition. As Lopp had indicated in his note, the deer that had been pulling the sleds were exhausted. And all across the mountains, the deep snow had made it extremely difficult for the animals to get at the moss that lay beneath. After assuring himself that the herd was all right, Jarvis decided that he could now go back to camp, where he had left Call and the guides, so that they could all hasten on to Point Barrow and the whalers.

  The construction of snow houses required the efforts of several individuals. Primitive as they appeared, the houses were remarkably warm even during the coldest winter months.

  The week that followed was truly remarkable. Traveling separately, Lopp and the deer and Jarvis and his party were daily battered with blizzards. Throughout this entire time, although the two groups were relatively near each other, each had no idea where the other was because of the blinding snow. On one occasion, Lopp and the entire herd passed within a half mile of Jarvis and his companions without either group knowing of the other.