Wrangell is an old Russian Settlement named after a Russian governor of Alaska and only a six-hour run from Ketchikan. We were there early this morning. I had to get up at six-thirty. The entry in my diary concerning this town amounted to just nine words. The only Eskimo influence was on the dock. An old woman was selling moccasins that had probably been made in Seattle. The main street presented the usual curio stores--the best I saw in the whole trip. It was a relief to get back on the ship gain, away from the mosquitoes.

The weather has warmed up and it is very pleasant on the after deck. I have been able to get a good coat of tan on my face. The scenery is improving and we have passed small icebergs.

At ten-thirty we passed through the Wrangell Narrows, one of the most treacherous parts of the trip. It is necessary for skippers to time their arrival at the Narrows so as to catch the right tide. We were told that the tide rises and falls about twenty to thirty feet. I remember that at Wrangell we walked off the main deck of the boat and on returning found the gang plank resting on the boat deck. The water runs about ten miles an hour through the Narrows which are about twenty miles long. It was a thrilling passage, the ship losing some of its control and we seemed to skid around the turns. After leaving the Wrangell Narrows we passed the old Russian settlement of Petersburg, now a busy fishing port.

It is a seven hour run across Frederick Sound and through the Stephen's Passage to Taku Glacier. The glacier is in two sections. The north section is termed "live" as it is continually moving to the sea. Its face is a mile wide and a hundred feet thick. It extends ninety miles back into the mountains. The great mass of ice produces the coldest weather of the trip. In order to get some pictures I had to put on all the clothes I had--they weren't enough--and stand shivering at the rail with the camera in my aching hands. My nose chose an inconvenient time to require attention.

Just imagine a large mountainous canyon filled with ice--like crumpled tinfoil, and a strong breeze blowing over it. This even was one of the outstanding incidents of my vacation.

The glacier to the south is "dead." It does not move but is melting and receding from the sea. The ice is discolored and not as beautiful as the shimmering, blue-white of the other glacier. It looks like a big gob of mud that has flowed down the canyon.

The ship backed up to the "live" glacier to the "live" glacier and we had a good view of its face. Pinnacles of ice fall into the sea at short intervals and float away as miniature icebergs. The reverberation from a blast of the boat's whistle caused great chunks of ice to break off. Although they appear white they change to shades of blue-green in the water. There were quite a few seagulls here, I don't suppose the cold bothers them.

We sailed up the Gastineau Channel to Juneau, arriving at nine-thirty tonight. As usual the sun was shining brightly. Juneau is the capital of Alaska and has a population of about 3,500. The two main features of this town are the Territorial Museum and the Mill of the Alaska-Juneau Gold Mining Company. The museum has many original works of art as well as domestic articles of the Esquimaux. The display is so interesting and genuine that my taste was spoiled for the junk offered by the curio stores. The pamphlet sold by the curator after his talk is one of my best souvenirs.

The Alaska-Juneau Mine has the largest quartz mill in the United States or Alaska, having a daily capacity of 9,000 tons. It is stuck on the side of Mount Roberts, overlooking the city and the channel. The ore dump is a big smear down the mountainside. The roar of the mill can be heard as you approach the town.

We left Juneau in the early dawn, it was about twelve-thirty in the morning.