FROM THE EAST TO THE WEST

     "Oh my Gawd!" Henry gasped in dismay. "Do we have to climb that?"                                      

    "I'm afraid so," Adam replied as he drew his collar higher against the icy wind. Crossing Chilkoot Pass was just one more obstacle on the way to  interior Canada and the Klondike gold fields. They watched in fascination and dread as climbers, lured irresistibly by their lust for gold, inched upward in a line that moved around the clock at the pace of the slowest man.

     The cry of "Gold, gold!" still rang in their ears, spurring them on. Gold held a promise of relief from the world-wide depression which followed the Civil War, reducing men to barter and stealing human dignity. With gold, men could live like men again. They were willing to pay any price, endure any hardship to obtain it.

        Chilkoot Pass was but part of the price to be paid. The landing at Dyea had been devastating. Tons of supplies, shoved overboard to float two miles to shore, had sunk in the shallow inlet. More had been rendered useless by saltwater.    Supplies were unavailable in the wilderness, and everything that smacked of civilization had to be imported on their backs over Chilkoot Pass. Packing the required ton of supplies across, one load at a time, required more strength and endurance than many possessed. The weak ones began to fall out. Many looked up and gave up, then sold out for ten cents on the dollar.

    "Do you want to turn back?" Adam said after a long, silent stare at the climbers.  He knew what the answer from his  tough little partner would be.

   "Turn back?" Henry cried indignantly.  "Not on your tintype!  We can climb that dad-blamed mountain as good as any man here!  We done clumb half a mountain just gettin' this far." 

            #   #

     Each day they averaged two trips across the pass, carrying back packs of 60 to 70 pounds They  returned sliding from the top of the pass on the “grease trail,” paths cut shoulder deep in the snow.      “Why don't we assemble packs for tomorrow, then call it a day?" Adam said. "The temperature is beginning to drop.

      "We don’t need to get frostbite. Personally, I’d like to keep all of my fingers and toes."
     "I ain't no hero," Henry replied, "But, I feel like I orta make a trip to keep even. With them long legs you done made more trips than me. "
     "You got no business makin' a trip this time a'day!" Molly said sharply as Takeel's dog sled came to a stop beside them. She climbed from the sled, and waddled to a stack of boxes carrying a large container of coffee. Dressed in heavy winter pants and parka, she looked like a short grizzly bear. 
          "I brought somethin' to warm you up a mite," Molly opened the big basket. "Here's hot 'tater soup, fried pork sandwiches and donuts." She poured the soup into large enameled cups and produced spoons from the basket.
     "Thanks, Molly, I’m hungry,” Adam spooned hot soup into his mouth. “This is delicious."
     "It shore is," Henry agreed. A swirling snowflake landed in his cup and disappeared. "Now look at that," he grumbled. "It's snowin' again. Ain't it never gonna stop?" He took a sip of coffee and sniffled when a vapor of steam curled around his cold nose, making it tingle.
     "The snow should have stopped already," Adam said. "The ranger at the weigh station said almost six feet of new snow has built up on that dome over the pass. If it continues, there could be an avalanche."
     "Oh dear!" Molly said. "If that happens we'll be stuck here until snow melts in the spring!'
     "This is supposed to be spring!" Adam said dryly.
     "Well, I reckon I'd best get on with it." Henry began attaching straps to a large back pack. “These supplies ain't gonna pack theirselves acrost the pass."
     "Henry Pfister!" Molly said bossily, "Don't you go makin' another climb when you're so plumb wore out already."
     "I'm fine!" Henry bristled, obviously feeling his manhood threatened. "I don't need nobody tellin' me what to do!"
     "I ain't tellin' you what to do, but you had best heed what I'm saying! Do you hear me?"
     "Just because we're partners," Henry flared, " that don't mean you can go bossin' me around. I don't tell you how to run your caf-a." He hefted the pack onto his back and began adjusting the straps.
     "Dad-blamed women!" he muttered. "Always tryin' to boss a man around."
     "Stubborn little jack-ass," Molly said as she reloaded the basket. The dogs leaped eagerly to their feet when she climbed into the sled. At the crack of Takeel's whip the dogs were off and running. Their barking blended with that of countless other dogs, forming a steady canine chorus that hung in the valley like a mist. Adam watched the sled grow small in the distance then turned to see Henry stomping angrily toward the mass of humanity around the base of the icy steps.

     "Henry! Come back! Come back!"

     His yells were ignored. Henry's red Mackinaw soon blended with the group gathered to make the climb. Adam sighed and swung a pack onto his back, then headed toward the golden stairs. He felt uneasy about Henry climbing alone. The day would end before they returned. With darkness, the temperature would plummet, and the risk of frostbite would become dangerously high.

      Henry's false strength, born of indignation, soon began to wane. Every step brought strain as the line moved in lock step, left-right, left-right.
     Used by thousands of climbers, the steps of ice had become worn and hollowed in places. Many were broken and crumbling, making them more slippery and dangerous. Henry’s legs began to burn, but he dared not stop, he had to keep pace.

      If a man fell out of line, it might be hours before he could get in line again. With the icy wind that whistled around them a man could freeze to death while he waited.
     "Dad-blamed women think a man ain't got the sense God give a goose," Henry muttered in an attempt to distract himself from his crying muscles and the icy wind. He gritted his teeth. He must keep on climbing, left-right, left-right. Little by little the climb grew steeper, forcing him to lean forward inch by inch, increasing the pressure on his back, but he mustn’t think about that.

      Henry stared at the boots of the man ahead of him, so close now as he was forced to lean forward. They were brown. He would think of that and not his trembling thighs. The boots were old, the man was a farmer maybe. Yes, he would think about that, not how cold he was.

      “I’ve clumb this dad blamed mountain a’fore, “ he told himself. “Just think on it.  Left-right-left-right.”

     Cold collected in a hard knot between his shoulder blades, tightening until it ached like a charley horse. Henry was beginning to regret his hasty decision to defy Molly's warning. Left-right-left-right.
     "Just a little farther." Left-right-left-right.
His muscles burned, his lungs ached and his breath came in short, labored gasps as he breathed in the icy wind. Small spots swam before his eyes like black snowflakes.
     "Need to rest a bit." But, he dared not stop. The line must keep moving. It was dangerous to relax and close one's eyes. With fatigue, sleep came quickly and body temperature dropped. Then, strangely, a feeling of warmth returned. At this point the body was freezing, with the fingers of death reaching to claim another victim.

      Left--right--left --right the line had to keep moving.
     The screaming muscles of Henry's thigh jerked convulsively. His balance swayed. His boot slipped on a broken step and he pitched sideways into the snow beside the trail.

     The line moved on...Left-right-left-right.
     "Help!" Henry cried as he struggled to rise beneath the heavy pack. He might have been invisible to the moving line. Left--right--left--right.
     "Get up, get up!" one climber urged. He offered verbal assistance, but his feet kept climbing. The rest of the climbers ignored the pleas for help and kept climbing. Left--right--left--right
     Later, they could look back with regret. But, not now. Thousands of men from around the world were racing for the greatest prize in history, yet each man raced alone. Slaves to poverty, they had suffered loss of human dignity and pride. Now, at last, the promise of gold offered the chance to live like men again.
     This human treadmill of cold and misery, winding up the mountainside a few yards from a dying man, was struggling to win. But to win, one must be strong, persevere against all odds, disregard all outside distractions. One had to become heartless, cruel, and close one's eyes to all suffering but one's own, then learn to ignore that too. The sooner the weak fell out the better. It would be easier then. It would not be necessary to ignore them, to disregard their suffering, or feel guilty for refusing to care. The climbers moved on.  Left--right--left--right.

      ##

     Adam silently cursed the snail pace of the line when he saw a red Mackinaw crumpled in the snow ahead. Left--right--left--right. He finally reached Henry's silent form and dumped his pack to examine him. The line moved on, taking Adam's place with it.  Left--right--left--right.
     "Take it easy," Adam said when Henry opened his eyes. He was weak and near exhaustion, his skin icy, but Adam saw no white spots indicating frostbite.

     “You're going to be fine,” Adam said, “but we need to get you out of this wind and cold." He rose and hoisted Henry over his shoulder, then turned to enter the moving line. Climbers ignored him, as they had ignored Henry. Left--right--left--right. The line kept moving.

     “Let me in line!" Adam demanded fiercely, his eyes flashing fire. Still they ignored him.

Left-right-left-right, the line moved on.
     "Somebody had better make room," Adam thundered, "or this whole line is going backward down the mountain like a row of dominos!"
Left-right--left--right.

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