With Sack and Stock in Alaska

In Short

This book is a travelogue and mountaineering diary documenting a failed attempt to summit Mount Saint Elias in 1890. It follows a group of explorers as they navigate treacherous glaciers, flooded riverbeds, and unpredictable weather while relying on local guides and hired hands. The work has endured because it avoids the typical bravado of nineteenth-century adventure writing, opting instead for a gritty, day-by-day realism. It provides a rare, grounded look at the logistical exhaustion of frontier exploration and the quiet frustrations of men testing themselves against an indifferent, icy landscape.

The Story

The narrative begins with the author’s transit from London to British Columbia, where he rendezvous with his companions—H., E., and an American, W.—to finalize their Alaskan expedition. Their goal is the ascent of the imposing Mount Saint Elias. The group travels to Sitka and then to the remote outpost of Yakutat, where they struggle to secure reliable canoes, supplies, and local laborers. The expedition’s early phase is defined by the punishing geography of the coast: dense, impenetrable brush, endless mosquito swarms, and the constant, back-breaking labor of wading through glacial streams and hauling heavy packs over moraines.

As they move inland, the group suffers from poor weather and the erratic behavior of their hired workers, who frequently grumble, desert, or prove ill-suited to the demands of mountaineering. The party finds itself in a cycle of setting up caches and retreating, forced to constantly re-evaluate their route as the glaciers reveal themselves as impassable or excessively hazardous. The author finds his own involvement curtailed after a "catastrophe"—the breaking of his only pair of glasses—leaves him effectively blind in the glare of the snowfields. This forces him to wait behind while his companions push toward the heights.

The remaining members reach a high point on the mountain, gaining a sweeping view of the surrounding peaks and the glaciers winding out toward the horizon. They conclude that the final summit ascent is far too perilous for their resources, noting that what appeared to be accessible snow-slopes from a distance are, in reality, steep, unyielding walls of ice. The dream of conquest is abandoned. The long, demoralizing journey back to the coast ensues, characterized by hunger, mosquito bites, and the logistical nightmare of navigating a landscape that seems to swallow their efforts.

The story concludes at Yakutat, where the men endure a long, restless wait for a rescue boat that fails to arrive on schedule. Their growing desperation leads the author to make a final, risky decision: to bypass the official transit plans and attempt a dangerous canoe journey along the coast. Through a series of precarious river crossings and coastal navigation, dodging squalls and dealing with uncooperative skippers, the party eventually reaches safety. The narrative closes with the author’s sober reflections on the mountain’s geology and the quiet admission that, despite the failure to summit, the expedition provided a definitive, if brutal, education in the realities of the Alaskan frontier.

How It Unfolds

The voyage begins The author travels from London to Canada, meeting his team and preparing for the arduous task of reaching the Alaskan interior. Initial efforts are spent securing canoes and navigating the complex social and logistical landscape of Sitka and Yakutat.

The push inland The party engages a group of packers and begins the slow, wet slog toward the mountain’s base. Every step is an exercise in endurance, as the men battle freezing glacial water and the density of the coastal bush.

The setback The author’s loss of his spectacles renders him unable to continue the climb safely, forcing him to accept a secondary role. His frustration is palpable, yet he remains stoic, waiting for his companions to return from the higher reaches of the glaciers.

The final effort The climbing party reaches a vantage point high on the mountain but finds the summit route blocked by impossibly steep ice. They make the prudent, if disappointing, decision to turn back, marking the definitive end of their mountaineering ambitions.

The retreat The exhausted group faces a long wait at Yakutat, eventually deciding to take their fate into their own hands. They navigate a treacherous coastal route in a small canoe, enduring rough seas and primitive living conditions before finally reaching safety.

The People

The author, G.B., emerges as a pragmatic, self-deprecating observer. His primary goal is the successful completion of the expedition, but he remains humble, admitting his own physical limitations and the "diary-like" nature of his writing. He ends the journey with a tempered respect for the mountain’s indifference.

H., the expedition’s lead, is the driving force behind the planning. He is a persistent figure who often bears the brunt of the administrative frustrations, particularly when managing the hired help. His brother, E., and the American, W., act as the primary climbers; they are defined by their tenacity and their willingness to push forward when the author is forced to hold back.

The hired men, particularly "Shorty" McConnahay, provide the friction of the story. Shorty is a giant of a man, described as an ideal "Anglo-Saxon" in appearance, who is as prone to bouts of infectious good nature as he is to incessant, loud grumbling. The local Yakutat guides, Billy and Jimmy, represent the bridge between the explorers and the terrain; they are frequently caught between their duties to the white explorers and their own desire to return to their homes, viewing the mountains with a mix of practical caution and spiritual unease.

In Its Own Voice

The Indians are very fond of these and attribute soporific powers to them, but I certainly cannot recommend them, for they resemble nothing more than the indiarubber after which they are named, being absolutely tasteless and appallingly tough.

The author describes a miserable meal of "gumboots" (chitons) consumed during the early, difficult days of the trek.

The risk of ophthalmia too, from which I had once suffered, was not lightly to be risked in these desert places, and I reluctantly came to the conclusion that I must abandon all idea of climbing.

The author recounts the moment he realizes his broken glasses will prevent him from ascending the mountain.

At this camp they had been chanting the most doleful ditties, and when I inquired what it was all about, they said, ‘Siwash sick tum-tum, want go home.’

The author notes the growing melancholy and homesickness of their guides as the expedition drags on.

What It's Really About

The central theme is the collision between human ambition and the intractable nature of the wild. There is no grand triumph here, only a series of lessons in humility. The book explores the tension between the "civilized" desire to map and conquer the earth and the raw, geological reality of a place that is not waiting to be discovered. It asks: what happens when the gear fails, the body falters, and the environment refuses to cooperate? Beyond the climbing, it touches on the cultural friction of the era—the reliance on local guides whose relationship with the land is fundamentally different from the explorers' possessive urge to reach a summit.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the slow, methodical pace of nineteenth-century exploration journals will find this a deeply rewarding experience. There is a tactile, sensory quality to the prose—you can almost feel the dampness of the wool, the sting of the mosquito, and the biting cold of the glacial runoff. It is not an action-packed thriller; it is a document of persistence.

Modern readers should be prepared for the author’s period-typical attitudes. His descriptions of the local people and the indigenous guides reflect the paternalistic, colonial mindset of the 1890s, which may strike contemporary readers as dated or insensitive. Furthermore, the book is dense with logistical detail and lacks the dramatic narrative structure of modern adventure memoirs. However, for those interested in the history of mountaineering or the "golden age" of exploration, it offers something rare: a complete lack of pretense. It is a work of profound honesty about the reality of failure. What stays with the reader is not the heights they reached, but the quiet, shivering dignity of men who, having realized they were beaten by the mountain, simply turned around and did the work of getting home.